Alchemisland

Why is Dublin shit

Is it the people or the pricks

In office, politricks

Is it the steeple spire resembling a syringe

Is it the outside influence rendering us unwilling

Is it the stymying shock of rampant sinning

To a nation once religiously estranged from killing

Places once I sat where I would not sit anymore

The least of our worst in storage

The rest free to walk streets, exhorders, scourges

Each new distraction must be more urgent

Than the pressing urge emerging to purge ourselves of leaders

A junkie bleeding yesterday evening

A life-long fiend, always beefing

Thieving from tourists on main streets

Another of our wild ephebes 

Made insane by lacking destiny

The deeds, the deeds, the deeds indeed

Dark things, masonic hoodwinks

Well known down in Store Street

The nuclear bay invaded by raw sewage

Dark forces, police horses, useless FÁS courses

Finance Minister without recourse records his memoir as fiction to avoid taxes

We used to carry axes, flash knives like bandits at bastard Dandies

Where is the rage gone, we see flashes after accidents

Reports of past mismanagement, abuse of position, witness vanishment

It is not a land of saints and scholars but of greased palms and fat wallets

Politicians with no bank accounts, using horseracing loot to buy a massive house

I feel that someone needs to be held to account, in fact I shout out

How about a Turkey Shoot in the government houses?

We are told to pull up our trousers, keep our top lips still soundly

We are a national family, all suffering equally in the spirit of fraternity

Preached by their lodges, the deeds therein are dirty

The dreams like those of electric sheep, dystopian districts, thirty

Three plastered across every screen, triangle is isosceles, blurting

Out names after they pulled my nails out down the station, hurting

Me to extract a confession, it’s like the priests never left

In fact, growing in malevolence, public pressure the scale cannot measure

Every instagram post and mention the comment section all death threats

Our leaders are treasure obsessed shriners, upper class prole rivals

Thriving while the country is dying, smoke rising from pyres in 2025

The decadent empires draw their continental battle lines

And we the battered wives finishing morning wine bottles

Will allow the allied pilots to refuel their planes, yes your highness

We will bottle revolution halfway like we always do, suffering only the fools

That we are, we bear a coward mark, we rarely finish what we start

Else we would have by now a united Ireland, I hear more sirens

And undelightful things, no prizes for stating these signs are ides

Which only the blind or prideful would not hight as unsightly

They take the cream of the bloom, leave us picayune pittance

Pick a new one, pull the other one, this lad is a plum

How in God’s name did he come to run

Let alone get elected for governance

Did we really leave the priests and nuns

Who shunned us and shagged our bums

It feels like we’ve been here already, more than once

Rump striated from the punitive leather

Next time you will know better than to the make mistakes in Latin declensions

Strongly worded letters are written but never posted, the church can make one less than

Persona non-grata, they have the Ra Staff’s equal in power, to silence, to hide drama

To make an example of one speaking out, the power of the question with no answer

To grip us, to change utterly what the glance fancies to see

No more through a glass darkly seeing, the rose lens ruby debris

I see scree from old sins screaming out to be evinced, gathered as evidence

I hear the buried dead inside my head, shedding tears for themselves

For the years in Limbonic hell, we must delve ourselves

With picks of fairy-fearing metal we must uproot petal

Grass and pavestone alike, we must not unfix our sight

From the horrifying crimes unveiled at these sites

We will not cite passages from the Bible, nor be divided

In this abhorrence we find ourselves united

A crime against our tribe, truth cannot be confided

To us so lightly, the balance tips so slightly

A terrifying turn to furthest right

The rage is right and righteous

But the aim is tired and inaccurate, we are knackered

From years of sapping taxes, repeating recessions like spinning wax

We are the camel of the ten year broken back, crawling back into the ring

We must toss the ring into mount doom’s fires, bring the banks to heel

Burn the Brinks vans as they make circuits, all the money steal

And donate to the fearful populace, prophets ensuring the regime can be toppled

Return of the croppy boys and gallowglasses, crop your hair short the masses

Overthrow your masters, avert the coming disasters, heed the warnings from Atlantis

The phantom boys of lost generations toss aside toy guns, taking flamethrowers

To the Remembrance Gardens, the Children of Lir are charred

The children of leaders become targets for fringe alarmists

The cars of politicians must be escorted, and armoured

Public speeches are given behind glass

The Garda are given a pass for harassment

Soon they will wear masks, private task force

Called in when shit goes bad, fuck your fucking FEMA camps

Conspiracy, this is open air piracy and elite delinquency

Don’t blame the immigrant with nothing in his pockets

Blame the politician landlord who drafts laws regarding property.