Music That Kicks Political Ass: "the fletcher memorial home"
one hears, very far off in the distance, a man shouting, his voice nearly drowned out by the roaring of wind: "Hey! Get your filthy hands off my desert!" and then, a voice, distinct, quite loud in your ear, as if someone standing next to you merely had to lean slightly to ask: "What'd he say?" – and then the unmistakeable sound of a nuclear explosion uncomfortably, impossibly close to ground zero.
- the fletcher memorial home
brezhnev took afghanistan and begin took beirut
galtieri took the union jack
and maggie, over lunch one day, took a cruiser, with all hands,
apparently to make him give it back.
take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
and build them a home
a little place of their own
the fletcher memorial
home for incurable tyrants and kings
and they can appear to themselves every day
on closed circuit t.v.
to make sure they're still real
it's the only connection they feel
"ladies and gentlemen, please welcome:
reagan and haig,
mr. begin and friend,
mrs. thatcher and paisley,
mr. brezhnev and party,
the ghost of mccarthy,
and the memories of nixon,
and now, adding colour, a group of anonymous latin-american meat packing glitterati"
did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
they can polish their medals, and
sharpen their smiles,
and amuse themselves playing games
for a while -
boom boom, bang bang, lie down, you're dead -
safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
(their favourite toy)
they'll be good girls and boys
in the fletcher memorial home for
colonial wasters of life and limb -
is everyone in?
are you having a nice time?
now the final solution can be applied