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We are notdeceived by your words
We see through your promises We sanctify your lies We are the disaffected the isolated wounds of subtle napalm; Shopping doesn`t make us happy commercials cull our sensitivity freedom is nothing without responsibility and in the rain drenched tarpaulins of market traders lies the epitomy of belief clinging to our pennies on entrance on exit memory or dream this hole in my throat this gap in the ink this place without meaning this stuttering eloquence of screaming; Save, save us all allow desolations find a path, be unafraid to act hold life stand stand oak tall even the smallest body makes a shadow - in the hanging out the wash in the protest of discipline tiny hands scraping solitudes clinging to moments creating miracles from everyday routines in the dignity of ironing the anxiety of mortgages the the sentence of being but still still still the being we are butterflies trapped in the frost victory is acknowledging the fact that we, we have not yet lost. so carress me with your alienation alienate me with your carress create me with your credit pour me power through direct debit feed me freedom from selling shares and paint me a symbol and tell me I`m free; we are we are the guerilla tapestry in the silence of insurance payments council tax benefits industrial tribunals the penny pinchers the super savers the lottery watchers we are the incoherent throats searching for sound the peaceful protestor the single mother the social worker at the homeless shelter We are the happy shoppers the credit cravers the sales offers the poundstretchers the breaking fabric of modernity stitched only by our solitude we are the temporary fragments of a capitalist master plan; unemployment statistics family credit beggars no collar coolies part time slaves sucking severances praying for meaning not this lipless screaming and in these motives that purify in these acts that dignify in this tiny gesture of defiance is an articulation of a void a vision versed in lament this hate this hate is born from love; We are the undying the breath of chlorophyll over the concrete the soul against the gold we are loneliness burned iron fists fuelled by injustice We are the denied yet unified we are the tapestry, the crackling cracks of modernity dislocated desperations stitched together by the disparate verses of our skin; I write therefore we exist we exist therefore I write and from this page this scream this no from the supermarket to the dole from the youth centre to the old peoples` home is the sound the silence of the sound of the alone to the alone the sound of the ability to resist; And in this ink there is the blood of a thousand miners and in this ink the eyes of 500 doctors the struggle of my father the sensitivity of my mother and the hand of my baby; and in this prison cell there is a skied sunlight and in these words the power they tried to deny us, the stab of a killer the tourniquet of a nurse and in this ink is one is many is you and I and in this voice the milk of a mother against against against their chains to smother mother to man to woman to child the guerrilla tapestry spread nationwide; And in the division there is a unity and in this incision there is a sanctity and in this pale silent page blisters a cacophony enraged with the burn of generations following the bullet of emancipation we are we are the threads we are we are the severances we are we are the stitches we are we are a no in search of a yes we are we are the breaking we are we are the making the blind beginning to see we are we are we are the guerilla tapestry
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