The People Of Straight Land
David Thrussell
The people of straight-land
All live in a row
Tiny little boxes, no-where to go
You've got to get a job
To maintain the position
A bright happy dream
As prescribed by your physician
The people of straight-land
Have really got it made
A warm friendly sleep
From the cradle to the grave
A bright plastic lie of cash and credit
A huge, grey fantasy
You'll really want to edit
The people of straight-land
Are really not alive
We walk and speak but only just survive
We move around but under direction
We cannot see the larger perception
The people of straight-land
Make a silent scream
Desperate to escape
This death day-dream
Rotting from the inside
It's really not polite
You've got to shield your eyes
From such an everyday sight