Sentiment - Crass

Last vision the lark is flame

The cattle shed gives off the smell of sunday kitchen

The gentle eye, the dispensable perfection

Before the flash takes two weeks food

Pile the sacks of earth and hide

All of us here know it, we grew it

Fighting amongst ourselves, leaving bits of flesh on barbed wire

A little blood on the floor

Locks and bars across the door

Well versed in violation

Our children beat each other in the garden

Our failure to accept the earth, we talk of love but push it to the edge

Push it to the edge

This is no natural aggression composing death

I am afraid for beauty when I see the fist

The perfect hand that turns against itself

The perfect hand that holds a gun or wields a butcher’s blade

Or leads to death

Leads to death the used-up bull or incarcerates the hopeless fool

Or takes the forest with a single flame

Leaves the next an empty shell

Human kind condemns the hunting beast

Yet their own choice leaves behind such ragged meat

The military dream of blood

Their sweet wine flowing in the veins of men

Who work towards our bloody end

They fly Enola gaily, give birth to this waiting… waiting

Give us the reality of our hatred, give the earth nothing

Melting, goats dead on the green, dying lambs bleating by the wire

Three last days on the earth, I lay down to die in the grass