Table of Contents
Chris Sellars
It had to end of course. Anyone who thought the status quo was reasonable or sustainable were delusional. They were living in what has always been referred to as a fool’s paradise. Alas, paradise cannot be realised in this transitory material world. We live imprisoned by space and time and are subject to the law of cause and effect.
Since 1971 the global financial system has not been based on any real measure of value. The gold standard was abandoned in favour of a fiat currency based on government bonds. A bondsman as everybody knows is a debt slave. Linked to the US Dollar and oil it became known as the petrodollar. Since then central banks have enslaved nations and people with debt and printed money into worthlessness. The strong delusion that was promised is upon the world and people can no longer tell fact from fiction or objective truth from wishful thinking. Astonishingly what most people wish for looks to me more like Hell than Paradise.
As rust decays the empires flimsy framework
And the spirit of corruption wins the day
The worm has burrowed to the very marrow
And we realise that there’ll be hell to pay.
From my mountain perch amongst the trees the situation looks as follows:
The landlord, tired and a trifle grumpy, rinses the glasses. It has been a torrid time. Angel, the barmaid, a little frazzled, cleans the tables. What had started out as a quiet drink after a day’s work had somehow turned into a rollicking party and no one had wanted it to end.
What a party it was: sex, drugs, and rock and roll with fights in the car park. Gamblers, ramblers, chancers, dancers, contenders and pretenders. All drunk with the wine of vintages old and young. They have drunk the cellar dry and themselves to dissipation and exhaustion. So now it is closing time at the Capitalist Arms.
“Alright, everybody! The party’s over It’s time to go home. No one’s got any money left and you have all exhausted your credit so I have to close the bar. We’ve all had a whale of a time but now there are bugger all whales left. It’s time to return to your land, your nation, your people, yourself and your god. No matter who you are or where you are from, the world is no longer your oyster. It is rather in crisis, your country needs you.
“All you hubristic, hypocritical, self-deluded, worldly-wise fools: For so long you have sat here in my bar telling everyone what you know and a great deal more besides. Without putting any of it into practice. You think you have a few answers. Its time shut up and put them into practice and show us how its done. Now is the time to show your mettle.
“Those who have called yourselves leaders and spent most of your time and ours telling us how clever you are: We are tired of your talk. Your words are smoke, they have no substance. Your empire is a house of cards and now the winds of change are blowing it cannot stand. It is time to stop the chatter and go home.
“Like Sodom and Gomorrah and Babylon the great the structure you have built is rotten to the core and is crumbling. It is but small comfort knowing that you must drink from your own cistern. Go and begin doing something useful.
“We appreciate that it often seems like the grass is greener on the other side of the fence and that sometimes it actually is. This though is mostly because you have either, trampled it or otherwise mismanaged the pasture on your own side of the fence. It is no solution to jump the fence and graze the fields of others. Time to start replanting and tending your own pasture.
“All you prancers and dancers who have come to believe that life is but a ball and that this extended party was the reality, it is not. Pain, suffering, toil and death are the real seasoning of life; leave my bar, you have no more credit.
“You thought you could have your cake and eat it but now you have diabetes and your heart is sick and tired. When the hotel doors are closed and the staff have left to rest in peace you will find yourself outside on the pavement in the clear harsh light of day. Have you got a home to go to or are you just a vagrant soul?”
The Fiddlers Ball
The writers talk in riddles
And the lawyers play the fiddle
Everybody’s dressed up to the nines
The empire’s in decay
And there’l be Hell to pay
It really is the best and worst of times
The salesmen play a hunch
Try and beat ya to the punch
Staggeringly drunk with their success
Till they curl up in a corner
Takin’ drugs by doctors order
Desperate to manage their distress
Consuming lies, the lunch is free
For just deserts there is a fee
And everybody’s moving in a trance
got so much ‘n wanting more
paying court to Babylon’s whore
And she leads them in a very merry dance
There’s mutton dressed as lamb
Lining up to taste the ham
But they know that hunger’s never gonna go
Just fillin in the time
With the music and the wine
Don’t ya know ya reap just what ya sow ?
They’re all actors by vocation
and they’re shooting on location
Simply players tryin’ to play a part.
And finding consolation
with adulterous fornication
The sticky sweetness of a jammy tart.
It’s one for one, and none for all
Dancing at the fiddlers ball
The dancers stumble clumsily around
there’s lots of steps they can’t recall
And pride comes before the fall
that puts em – six foot underground
Still the party rages on
There’s no end until the dawn
And everyone is taken for a ride
With broken dreams and facial creams
Busting seams, with silent screams
Laughing when they really should have cried
Just like Sodom and Gomorrah
There’s no thought about tomorrow
It’s a fracas that is on for one and all
Seems like no-one will behave
As they dance toward the grave
And before they go, to Hell, they’ll trash the hall
Drunk to beat the band
It can be hard to make a stand
But everybody knows they should be leaving
Cause it’s been going on for years
And it’s bound to end in tears
As they get tangled in the web they have been weaving
When the dancing’s over
and the piper must be paid
Ain’t nobody getting drunk,
no-one getting laid
Things aren’t looking quite so good in the harsh clear light of day
sitting with a sore head
and a little bit of shame
wondering why they feel like death
and where to place the blame
Its time to face the music and they cannot get away
Cannot feel with a heart of stone, or run with feet of clay.
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