Here's a track I wrote this morning about my experience with the Irish customs this week after being refused entry due to my history with the UK and deported back to Copenhagen.
My thoughts go out to refugees and peoples from poor countries who are treated with much less dignity.
Lyrics:
I didn't pay for this privelege
My last words to the staring passengers, as I was plucked from the plane
My private chauffeur, in white and blue
down the tarmac
Away from the people sane
I said, I understand your reasons but I don't appreciate the guilt trip
All this can be said plainly without authorities' slick silver tongue so slit
They said,
You can have a doctor
You can have water too
You don't need a blanket
Central heating for you
But reality is isolation
with scribbles on the wall
a hole to shit
and a simple mattress too
and a button on the wall that seems to have no function at all
with all previous requests as if they were never said
hello mind, how are you?
I'm sure I've met you before
I've always considered myself well met
Jacket and shoes
left at the door
Naked to eyes
the mind my only pillow
The hope of communion
Anything at all
Makes for a watchful persistence at a hole in the fucking iron door
White light glaring, not letting up
Makes a timeless moment in this dull green concrete bus
I consider so many much worse than I
With no hope, no voice
And a fear to out cry
The machine is a part of us
It's a creation from our core
An external force
herding us with law
It tags us
It audits us
it sorts us
it organises us
it slots us
we sit and we wait for heaven's perfect patient end
when it's the burning gates of oblivion we've actually been send
We can only hold ourselves accountable
When it was us that trusted
the bliss of ignorance
we thought was
undoubtable
===
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