ABSTRACT
Reason is the mark of kin Poetry destroys illusions – it doesn’t create them And hope is a passion that will not let men
Rest in asylum’s peace
The Bundle Poem
They run the clinic in which you’re born Christen you in their church Teach you the rules of their school Examine your minds Mark them Donate your playing field Teach you the rules of their games Employ you and pay you Pay you when there’s no work
Print your money Marry you in their church or their registry office Christen your children Censor your television Let you listen to their radio Share their newspapers with you Sweep your street Train your police Give you medals Encourage you with bonuses Punish you when you’re a nuisance Put you in hospital when you’re sick Take you into care when you’re old Burn you in their crematorium And scatter your ash on their grass
No wonder some of you fight for them When the rest start to ask What the hell they’re doing!
