The Bearing - London

Hands on lap, I observe
Broken stone, cracked concrete; grey
Eyes seek, I search to learn
How we became to be so led astray
Aerosol art and latent gestures
Suited up aggressors and investors
Telephone box; A simulacrum
Disillusionment has grown and now it festers
March! left, right left
Through the ticking hands
Into your inevitable
End of life
In Strand, handing out wares to homeless folk
Lined-up, queuing, curb-side and here's the real joke
We're mirrored by the Queen's money-men in the pub
Trading wads of dough while the beggars share crumbs
Hands held out, I attempt to gesture
And into my left ear, I start to hear protesters
I meet a sense of hope inside; A simulacrum
Activists - with fists in air - declare their rebellion
March! left, right, left
With the marching band
Into some hope.. any hope
That we will survive

Written by:
Alfie Bartley

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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