RISE AGAINST - RE-EDUCATION (THROUGH LABOR)

To the sound of a heartbeat pounding away
And the rhythm of the awful rusting machines
We toss and turn but don’t sleep
Each breath we take makes us thieves
Like causes without rebels
Just talk but promise nothing else

We crawl on our knees for you
Under the sky no longer blue
We sweat all day long for you
But we sow seeds to see us through
Because sometimes dreams just don’t come true
We wait to reap what we are due

To the rhythm of a time bomb ticking away
And the blare of the sirens combing the street
Chased down like dogs we run from
Your grasp until the sun comes up

We crawl on our knees for you
Under a sky no longer blue
We sweat all day long for you
But we sow seeds to see us through
Because sometimes dreams just don’t come true
Look now at what they’ve done to you

White needles buried in the red
The engine roars and then it gives
But never dies
Because we don’t live
We just survive
On the scraps that you throw away

I won’t crawl on my knees for you
I won’t believe the lies that hide the truth
I won’t sweat one more drop for you
‘Cause we are the rust upon your gears
We are the insect in your ears
And we crawl all over you

We sow seeds to see us through
Our days are precious and so few
We all reap what we are due
Under this sky no longer blue
We bring a dawn long overdue
We crawl all over you

THE BLUE ANGEL

Marlene Dietrich is singing a lament
for mechanical love.
She leans against a mortarboard tree
on a plateau by the seashore.

She’s a life-sized toy,
the doll of eternity;
her hair is shaped like an abstract hat
made out of white steel.

Her face is powdered, whitewashed and
immobile like a robot.
Jutting out of her temple, by an eye,
is a little white key.

She gazes through dull blue pupils
set in the whites of her eyes.
She closes them, and the key
turns by itself.

She opens her eyes, and they’re blank
like a statue’s in a museum.
Her machine begins to move, the key turns
again, her eyes change, she sings.

—you’d think I would have thought a plan
to end the inner grind,
but not till I have found a man
to occupy my mind.

  — Allen Ginsberg (1926 - 1997), American poet

For the Husla!

THE JAM - GOING UNDERGROUND

Some people might say my life is in a rut,
But I’m quite happy with what I got
People might say that I should strive for more,
But I’m so happy I can’t see the point.

Somethings happening here today
A show of strength with your boy’s brigade and,
I’m so happy and you’re so kind
You want more money - of course I don’t mind
To buy nuclear textbooks for atomic crimes
And the public gets what the public wants
But I want nothing this society’s got -

I’m going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground, (going underground)
Well let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow

Some people might get some pleasure out of hate
Me, I’ve enough already on my plate
People might need some tension to relax
[Me?] I’m too busy dodging between the flak

What you see is what you get
You’ve made your bed, you better lie in it
You choose your leaders and place your trust
As their lies wash you down and their promises rust
You’ll see kidney machines replaced by rockets and guns
And the public wants what the public gets
But I don’t get what this society wants

I’m going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground, (going underground)
[So] let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow

La la la la
La la la la

We talk and we talk until my head explodes
I turn on the news and my body froze
The braying sheep on my TV screen
Make this boy shout, make this boy scream!

Going underground, (going underground!)
I’m going underground
I’m going underground

La la la la
La la la la
La la la la
La la la la

The braying sheep on my TV screen
Make this boy shout, make this boy scream!

I’m going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground, (going underground)
[So] let the boys all sing and the boys all shout
Going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play, and feet go pow pow pow!
Going underground, (going underground)
[So] let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow …