free tribe living

free tribe living


radio free zion
he, from whom am i?
i and i suffer (no more)
the queen will be blue
from those who say selah
free tribe living



radio free zion


and if a man would do the right,
he should speak the right,
but people are uncareful
with their words and
inprecise in their actions.

so if i would say
its the same to win or lose
they would think it's nihilistic
but what they're missing
is the idea
that certainty is on the side of the right
and the right is the side of the truth.

that's why there's people who feel
they would rather be poor and clean and humble
than be paid for meaningless work,
and why others ask how they could go on
without their material lives and happiness.

it's true
that it's very hard to live without things,
but to care for things is much harder.
time is better spent in caring for life around you.



he, from whom am i?



so the question remains
who is he,
from whom am i?
the second person cannot be known,
which is why it is said that we are
one, without a second.

seconds derive from firsts,
but in our case,
we have been derived,
one from the other.
a syzygy,
two parts, one whole.

and so it falls out that,
while amen is everyman,
and i am twin headed horus,
He is the lion of judah.

thus we refer to ourselves,
i and i,
my self, before the almighty i;
and though we have suffered,
we will suffer no more.

i and i suffer (no more)


(instrumental)



the queen will be blue


she gave me a cloak,
so fine to wear,
and said that the servant will serve.

i said,
but hold,
you know that's not so,
we all get just what we deserve.


i heard your lord say,
the oaks pass away,
i and the queen will be blue.
amidst affairs and other things to do.


she screamed and tore her shirt
and said
it's you who are
the fool.

we've men outside
and they
know what to do.

the queen serene,
but her lover bereaved,
without his head
and rods upon his knees.


my witness is
the one
i said
who judges all he sees.
do what you will,
i fear not you but he.


she called the guards,
helmet, spear, and shield.
swords, greaves, and dogs of
the field.


my lord approached,
his finger to his brow.
hammer, pen, measure, till, and crown.

have mercy on your servant, lord,
you know i'm not to blame.
the queen, she tore
her shirt herselft,
she lays your name to shame.

my servant speaks the truth he said
the queen will have to pay
all israel shall mourn her death today

yes israel shall shed her tears today.
all israel will mourn her death today.


from those who say selah


and so, before we continue,
it should be necessary
to clarify, once again,
who am i, where do i come from?

i come from those who say selah,
that is, pause, and consider.

we are the victims of the usurer, .
we are the blameless ones,
the peacemakers and the children's teachers.

we want to live humbly, peacefully,
and we want to be free.

you may say
you have always been free
and i would reply
i have always been free
but not in my dealings
with the world.

for if caesar's mark is slavery,
freedom is the mark of the almighty.


free tribe living

(instrumental)

she

she's a moment of my day
she's a word i want to say
she's the time i threw away
she's the ending of my day

rebel music

i don't wanna be another machine
i don't want to be perfect
i don't want to live forever
i don't want the perfect body
or the perfect mind

i don't want to be a productive member
of society

i don't want to be a law-abiding
citizen

i don't want to help
build another prison.

i don't want your wars.
i don't want oil
i don't want three cars.

i don't want to be efficient,
i don't want to be a hard worker.
i don't want to be a straight talker.

i don't want to be a consumer.
you have nothing for me to consume.
i don't want to be a producer.
you have no right to my labor.

i don't want to be a robot.
i don't want to dress real well.
i don't want you to admire me.

i don't want to be attractive.
i don't want to be charming,
sweet, or witty.
i don't want your attention.

i want to live quietly, simply,
by the work of my hands.
i want to live purely, fully,
peacefully.
i want friends, a lover,
and a dog.
i want music, talk, food, and light.

my own body,
my own mind,
my own freedom,

work, bread, peace, and land.
education, justice, and equality.

no more taxes.
no more wars.
no more governments.
no more borders.
no more god.
no more money.
no more laws.
no more cops.
no more guns.
no more killing.
no more prisons.
no more insanity.
no more machinery.
more humanity.
we want more humanity.
we want more humanity.

a song to train young lions

we are the world, we are the citizens of the world,
we are the downtrodden, misdirected,
and misused.
we are the media.
we are what we see.
we are what we speak,
we are what we are.

never let anyone tell you otherwise.

we are the torturers in abu-ghraib,
we are the cia
we are the fbi
and the bbc.

we are the record labels,
the film producers,
we are global warming
and international terrorism.

we are without regret
we are without salvation
we are without self
and without each other.

we are uncivilized warfare
we are the revolutionaries
we are reactionaries.
we are what we read.

don't let anyone take this away from you.

we are the shouts in the darkness
we are children dying of hunger
we are the intestines
spilling from an innocent's wound.

we are assault rifles,
we are video cameras,
we are record players,
we are wikipedia, google, and ohmynews

we are fox news.
don't ever forget it.

we are the poet dying in the gutter.

we are the priest touching children in the chapel.

we are obesity, we are suicide, we are drug addiction.

it's alright,
drink your wine with your woman.

i am mohatmas ghandi.
i am vladimir lenin.
i am leon trotsky.
i am the last of the iraqis.

i am ernesto guevara.
i am simon bolivar.
i am mother teresa.
i am martin luther king.

i am a citizen of the world.

i am a revolutionary.

i am a peace loving man.
i am a god-fearing man.

i am a man who walks in the paths of righteousness.

i am a man without limitations.
i am a man without obligations.
i am a man without resignation.

i am a warrior.
i am a freedom-fighter.

i am a child-killer.

wherever you look, there is ugliness.
wherever you look, there is struggle.
wherever you look, there is liberty.

we are the new peoples.
we are the world.
we are the young lions,
we are the hunters in the night.

don't ever let this go.

this is a song to train young lions.

don't ever let it go.

in paris, at the beginning of the industrial revolution...

many years ago, in paris, at the beginning of the industrial revolution, two artists were born. one was a poor child whose parents couldn't afford to buy him materials. he did odd jobs to buy paints and canvas. the other was wealthy and always had everything he needed. despite this, they were very close friends. the wealthy one would give the poorer one supplies whenever he could. they grew up, and the wealthy friend was apprenticed to a painter, who considered his talent mediocre. disappointed, the young aristocrat went to a university and studied to become a doctor. the poor child could no longer work odd jobs or beg, so he started washing dishes at an inn. the two lost contact, separated by distance and social class. in his spare time, the poor painter would sketch on the back of thrown away flyers and news papers, because he could no longer afford paint or canvas. his sketches showed that he was a genius, but they all ended up in a locked drawer in his nightstand, in the servant's quarters of the inn.

after many years, the two met by chance. the doctor, on a visit to a patient, ended up at the inn where the painter worked. they recognized each other and sat down for a glass of wine. as they were drinking and making small talk, the painter grabbed the doctor's hand. -look, brother,- he said, -how beautiful your hands are. one can see that you care for them well, wearing fine gloves, washing them with cold water, and rubbing them with oils and lotions. you have the hands of a painter.- the doctor sat quietly, seeing that his friend was close to tears. -and i, - continued the painter, -have the hands of a dishwasher. i have spent many years handling rough soap and sponges. my hands are dry and cracked, my knuckles bleed, and if i touched a canvas it would be stained with cooking grease and soot. how fortunate, then, that one of us can still follow our art.- of course, the painter had no idea his friend had changed professions; they hadn't spoken in many years. the doctor excused himself and went to check on his patient. the painter drew a sketch of his friend sitting in a straight-backed chair, his long, delicate fingers holding a wine glass by the stem. they never saw each other again.

the doctor went upstairs and gave his patient a dose of laudanum, to ease his pain, and help him sleep. as was common at the time, the dose was inexact, and the patient suffered a fatal overdose. the doctor lost his reputation and his practice. one night, he sat down with a bottle of wine and a pipe of opium, loaded his pistol, and blew his brains out. his body was found several days later, his hands covered with gunpowder, blood, and small bits of his own skull. the painter never heard of his death, continued washing dishes, and died in anonymity.

when the innkeeper cleaned out the painter's nightstand, he found the sketches, which he sold to a wealthy patron. the patron recognized their value and sold them to a gallery. the gallery sold them to aristocrats and business tycoons, who, upon their deaths, donated them to museums. the museums exposed them to the artists and people of paris. they were recognized as works of genius, praised in social circles, copied in artistic movements, broken down to their last nuance in university courses, to their last detail in a hundred fashionable critiques, and then forgotten.

howl #2

while sailors are put up in the motel 6
before being sent off to guard bays where
we are the invaders, terrorists, and heathen,
allen ginsberg's howl is displayed next to
howl: an anthology of the best dog wit
and a copy of faith without fanatacism,
our country's blood is drained into online questionaires,
homeland security, and helpless hippy movements,
there are cameras at every intersection
and iron clad ships of war
wait just off shore,
and bhutto's last words
the man who murdered osama bin laden
are censored by the bbc
in the name of freedom, democracy, and the american way of life,
war, wealth, bread, and circus.