Kingdom of the Knife

Twilight fading fast, garbage blowing through the underpass,
Hear them running on the asphalt and the dying grass,
The sport is in the chase,
The fear is for the hunted,
Coppery the taste,
When adrenalin is pumping,
Crying out, kicking out, cornered, out of breath,
Choking out the lies that never seem to stay the hand of death,
One more crying mother,
Mourns another wasted life,
Lying bleeding in the gutter,
Of the Kingdom of the Knife.

A feeding frenzy, just until the Newshounds smell the next,
Teddy-Bears and flowers and cards with close-ups on the text,
Politics is useless,
Policing makes it worse,
Religion meekly bows its head,
And walks behind the hearse,
Talking heads, talking trash, blaming, slinging mud,
Pumping out the lies that never seem to stem the tide of blood,
When greed is the pandemic,
And indifference is rife,
Violence finds a place to live,
United Kingdom of the Knife.

Stop it, stop it,
You really need to stop it,
Take it to the f*cking trashcan,
Put it in and drop it,
You bleed out on the last page,
When you carry in act one,
It won't protect you,
It will kill you,
Just as sure as Chekhov's Gun.

---

Edited by bassMonkey on October 23 2021 15:55

Anyone mentioning Chekhov in a song gets a gold star ;)

Much Kudos then to the wonderful Joan Jett!

"Hello, daddy, hello, mom
I'm your ch-ch-ch-cherry orchard"

I should warn you, I also have any number of Uncle Vanya Halen puns ready to deploy as well.

If you see two swords on stage, David Lee Roth WILL be dancing with them by the encore.

I really need to have another go at reading some Chekhov, it's been so long... When I hear people complaining about "losing business" that wasn't really theirs to begin with I tell them they are like Yakov in the Chekhov Rothschild's Violin story ;)

"Yakov (the coffin maker) was never in a good humor, because he always had to endure the most terrible losses. For instance, it was a sin to work on a Sunday or a holiday, and Monday was always a bad day, so in that way there were about two hundred days a year in which he was compelled to sit with his hands folded in his lap. That was a great loss to him. If any one in town had a wedding without music, or if Shakess did not ask him to play, there was another loss. The police inspector had lain ill with consumption for two years while Yakov impatiently waited for him to die, and then had gone to take a cure in the city and had died there, which of course had meant another loss of at least ten rubles, as the coffin would have been an expensive one lined with brocade.

The thought of his losses worried Yakov at night more than at any other time, so he used to lay his fiddle at his side on the bed, and when those worries came trooping into his brain he would touch the strings, and the fiddle would give out a sound in the darkness, and Yakov's heart would feel lighter."

Thanks for sharing some great lyrics [wl]230137[/wl]

Thanks for sharing some great lyrics [wl]230137[/wl]

That is truly AWESOME guys - really great job :W. Thanks for using the words.