Proletariat Revolution Blues Poem by Steph Kjaerbaek

Proletarian Revolution Blues


Post-Left that would do
Oppose the authority
Social conformity
The prevailing order
produces economic disorder
Crushed by social conformity
In the middle of the hierarchy
Thinking about the Sex Pistols' Anarchy
A vacation in the UK
but it costs too much to fly these days
Mom's a hag who steals apples in a bag
Siamese eyes, high eyebrows, cautious lies
She wears makeup to the grocery store
as a sort of public disguise
Buy some gas, they tax you, they take your cash
Some government authority.

You degrade yourself once, than more
You go back to degrade yourself
not to even the score
You degrade yourself more
You know exactly what's in store
Another negative losing score
If you can't win, pack it up, give in
and find something else to live for
Better than dying and balling on the floor
of your killing blues of misuse.

I was struck by red lightning
The look on my face was frightening
Standing on Trotsky's grave
Two hours out of Mexico City
With a guard, I'm not so brave
Should I celebrate or take pity
Was he good or bad, no really
What is a permanent revolution
Dying for the cause now
The man's a left-wing social institution
Oh well, now it was sad
but it doesn't make me mad
Time to make that hard decision
taking into account social derision
Mexican beer or margharita
Stay away from the wine, yeah
And that questionable coffee
that needs the addition of a cup
of hot English toffee.

These workers think they have it made
Up all night smoking pot and eating popcorn
Thinking about different ways to get laid
By the newspaper girl or the chambermaid
Down-and-out natives at the bus station
Beggars and buskers who need intoxication
When down-and-out when down-and-out yourself more
You seek opportunity in front of a closed door
Then when it opens up, you call it a bore
Take yourself away to what's in store
A sweet apple left to rot to the core
You've got your history but it's a bore
Lost lands and lost cultures
stories of mythology and creation
but you'd rather not study than score.

Vancouver Island crownie looking for cool cash
Leans out too much waving before his car crash
I was sitting inside my house
When the water played cat-and-mouse
Through the eye of a hurricane came
a prickling needle stab that flushed away
All my goods
I cried in vain, I watched my couch float away
The dams have broke, the levees gave way
To a tsunami rush at the light of day.
Washing toilets and tables for you
What's a white-collar man to do
Bad case of the immigrant blues.