...born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad

Courting disaster: A quintessential 1960s protest song, revised for our time:

Come gather ‘round folks from St. John’s to B.C.

And acknowledge what should be as plain as can be:

Where once we had freedom, we’re no longer free.

There’s a war out there that we’re wagin’.

What’s at stake’s nothing less that our dem-oc-ra-cy.

For the ‘roos they are a-ragin’.

Come writers and pundits, this fight is yours too.

Unless you speak up now your writing is through.

It’s pleasantries, platitudes, bromides for you.

From the truth you’ll be disengagin’.

And the truth is reality’s now a taboo.

For the ‘roos they are a-ragin’.

Come MPs and senators: heed the call, please.

And turn your attention to those HRCs.

They’re “curing” us all of a dreaded “disease”--

Free thought and expression they’re gauging.

And their “cure” is bringing us down on our knees.

For the ‘roos they are a-ragin’.

Come mothers and fathers who care about kids

And know what a Thought Cop allows and forbids.

No talk-back, no sassiness--that flips their lids.

Our society’s rapidly agin’.

And the new generation will soon hit the skids.

For the ‘roos they are a-ragin’.

The line it is drawn, the die has been cast.

The future’s the future, the past is the past.

And the chasm between ‘em should leave us aghast.

Our freedom is rapidly fadin’.

And the loser now won’t be able to last.

For the ‘roos they are a-ragin’.

Posted by: scaramouche at 09:21 | link | comments

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