How Fast Can You Clear Leather?(poem)

How fast can you clear leather????/

That's what I want to know./

I've heard you, and so many others,/

talk so much crap about making a revolution,/

on-line, off-line, all the damn time./

Don't matter what ideology you espouse,/

Left, Right, Centre, whatever./

I hear a lotta mouth-running,/

shrill, hysterical and wanna-be brutality./

I see a lotta paranoia,/

whether from New World Order types,/

9/11 Truthers, Anarchists, Libertarians,

Neo-Nazis, what the Hell ever,/

all bellowing about this, that and the other./

Folks believing the world'll end in 2012./

Better stock up on guns, ammo and freeze-dried food,/

'cos supplies are going fast./

Isn't that it???/

The sheer, savage joy of being among the “elect”,/

“The Chosen”, destined to survive./

The ones with all the inside dope,/

straight up, no God-Damn chaser./

Not like the “sheeple”, those on whom you look down./

The mugs, the suckers, the peasants destined to work for you in the New World to come,/

or die and be buried like dogs in unmarked graves./

Maybe, they are,/

maybe they are, /

I dunno./

But, before you get too damn smug and secure/

in your knowledge and righteousness,/

I gotta ask,/

how do you know you're not being played?/

How do you know that you won't be the poor sap up against a wall?/

Who made you God with the right to decide who lives or dies,/

and how fast can you clear leather???/

One day, maybe, someone will ask you that question,/

and he or she'll have a gun in his or her hand,/

same as you./

When they ask you that,/

it'll be Put Up or Shut Up Time,/

'cos that's the way it is in revolution and war./

Put Up, Shut Up, or be Strung Up, if you're lucky,/

by your heels from a gas station ceiling, /

a tree or lamp-post./

Left to twist, rot and stink in the wind,/

'till cut down and thrown in a hole,/

Like a discarded beer can or piece of rotten meat./

There's plenty wrong in the State of Denmark,/

Sweden, Britain, Canada, the US, Colombia, Zimbabwe,/

almost anywhere and everywhere you care to name./

There's plenty broken, corrupted, rotten through and through./

There's plenty of work, long, hard work, that we need to do./

Lotsa blame to go 'round,/

to politicians, pundits, officials, academics,/

policemen, soldiers, sailors, marines,/

insurgents, resurgents, mujahideen,/

poets, publicans and the public at large./

'Cos we all played our parts/

in these sordid little dramas./

Spurred on by propaganda, rumour and fear,/

that turned to anger and hatred./

We let our glands do the walking, talking,/

fighting and killing./

Or, at least were content to let others do it for us./

Vicious little colonial wars,/

in which Yankee and Raghead,/

Ethiop' and Somali,/

Russkie and Chechen,/

all going at each other./

Going for blood, land, goods./

Going all the way,/
'Till one side or the other ups and dies./

All spurred along by idea and word pimps,/

with their half-truths, quarter-truths and plain old lies./

Some of them fought and died, sure./

But, most are still around, still peddling/

their wares for all the suckers to lap up,/

like a dog sucking up water from a dish./

Yeah, it's a real inspiring picture to see,/

a great little spectacle to take in,/

so edifying and wonderful to behold./

Oh, yeah, such gratifying grievance and hatred to see, hear, taste, touch and smell./

Why not have a go at each other???/

There's enough needless cruelty, death and misery,/

and y'all wanna add on some more???/

Sure, go ahead. Why not???/

Kill 'em all and forget about keeping score./

Just so long as they're dead, right?/

Guess that's the clue./

Just so long as they're dead,/

except, of course, for you./

But, revolutions don't necessarily work out the way/

that one plans./

What with the murder, maiming, demolition and destruction,/

the purges, show trials and firing squads./

The bitter disappointments of peace that follow the exaltation of war./

Building's never quite as sexy as destroying, at least for some.,/

and they would find the ideals for which they fought,/

betrayed by those who were quicker, smarter, more cunning and better organised./

In the end, they'd be either pensioned off, shunted aside or purged/

to make room for the party hacks and opportunists/

that always come along and make a social order their own./

If you want real change, then make it, and make it good./

But, know what you're about./

Read, discuss, debate, figure, plan./

But, most of all, THINK!!! before you act./

Think long, hard and all the way through./

Think before you pick up a weapon./

Think before you pull a trigger or a pin./

'Cos if you don't, then someday, somehow,/

your choices and actions will come back on you./

It may be a revenge killing,/

made by someone whose loved one you shot./

It may be a show trial and purge,/

launched by comrades you once knew and loved./

It may be simply being crushed by the weight of bad memories/

and lies, as you lay a-bed, waiting to darkness to fall over you/

for the last time./


There's more than one way of making change./

More than one way of running a rail-road./

More than one way of getting things done./

Force and compulsion may win wars, but they never convince./

'Specially over the long run./

If you wanna be a self-fulfilling prophet of doom, go ahead./

That choice is yours./

But, so's the responsibility for everything you say and do,/

now and in the years to come./

And, if you should lose, don't whine, cry, shirk nor plead for mercy,/

'cos if you've not shown it to others, why should it be shown to you?/


That's the logic that wounds, the logic that kills,/

and it don't make a dime's worth of difference how true or pure you are./

'Cos, that's what comes of clearin' leather, no matter how noble the cause./

So, how fast can you clear leather?/

That's something you'll be needing to know/

if you go down the violent road.