Colin F. Jones


From superstition fear erects the throne,
And power over thought provides the home,
And the meritocracy of the modern way,
Strictly controls the freedom of all we say.
Oh we can dream within the marked out lines,
Hope according to the carefully planted signs,
Sheltered from the real cruelty of the Earth,
Killing our own kind before their right to birth.
And we can pine for soldiers; all our sons,
Who to the powers we still elect succumbs,
And march to war as they are trained to do,
To kill and slaughter for the favoured few.
That we can build our monuments to the dead,
To wipe our hands of all the blood they shed.