I, Idealism

I stepped inside the dream of a worker,
my leading question gave me away.
They found me guilty of breaking and entering,
my fears were realized and that's the price I pay.
I got in through the first floor window,
of a semi detached open mind.
A stranger in the realm of platitudes,
not what I expected to find.
Emulsioned tongues whitewashed the truth,
a dormant brain had forgotten to think.
Politely English, just like saying 'sorry',
rotten to the core and yet it didn't quite stink.

I cried inside the dream of a worker,
unashamedly, I burst into tears.
Beyond reproach like a fall out victim,
the dream fades then disappears.
Festering wounds of defeatism,
had scarred him for life he didn't want to know.
Living day to day in a world of drudgery,
But I ask you, where else can he go?

I died inside the dream of a worker,
they tortured me as I screamed aloud.
The worker can have no peace of mind,
so he finds comfort in the crowd.
Make sure he earns enough to pay the mortgage,
accumulating interest on the holiday loan.
He can afford a pint if he works overtime,
and watch TV when he's on his own.
But shed a tear for this dead ambassador,
this cold utopian head of state.
Who never had those cricket captain's eyes,
and forgot to call people 'mate'.


Capability Red 1988