Kuchema

My heart is broken As clicheed as that sounds It's limping like a A sick skeletal hound It crawls away to its corner Slumps with a weary sigh Curls up and waits Waiting to die Problem is, it's still beating And with every pulse It cries out until I feel repulsed I hate my own heart Because I hate you I hate the emptiness Here without you I hate the longing Hate the moping Hate the dissatisfaction I hate the fact that without you there is no passion I hate that I love you Hate that I am slave Hate that I think about you Every so often, some days But I'm glad that you aren't here Because now you can't hate me Now I am

I stand before you, bastard parents Knock on your doors of glass and steel Singed by fire and painted with blood Concrete manifestation of a world gone surreal The cries of the wronged so easily ignored The pain of our downtrodden, plundered world The monstrous births of the rape of our peoples Blessed by your twisted priests in their highrise steeples All the crassness you've swept Under the carpet, onto our heads I have seen pile up Like our nameless dead I am your prodigal son On a quest for what is real Undaunted by your towers Both Ivory and Steel I've spat out your pacifiers Fuck your colourful flickering screen I'm c

The problem with economics is that the whole discipline is based on false assumptions. I believe this, and I believe this is what leads us to a number of problems. Economics is passed off as a rigorous, precise discipline. It is as unquestioned and lofty to laymen as the Sciences are. A little applied philosophy soon shows that it is dangerously misguided. Here are some basic assumptions of Economics: We are all independent, rational ‘maximisers’. We make decisions in the face of a scarcity of resources and unlimited desires. Any absolute assumptions are suspect to me. Furthermore, an assumption that holds true for part of the

You lock up a man for doing what's right Hunt down his children Burn his house Beat his wife But freedom will come Freedom will come You hunt down our people Force-feed us lies Turn our brothers into spies But freedom will come A ray of sunshine To light up our hungry eyes Despite your hate and your lies Freedom will come You will lose your lie And despite your best alibi Freedom will come So fly the flag of the hungry worker Fly the flag of the angry son Fly the flag that's the colour of our blood Fly the flag that's the colour of the rising sun Freedom!

Blacksmith, blacksmith, I've forgotten your name Was it Michael, was it Ian, or was it Shane? Are we in your way, as colossal you stand Hammering away with a shaky blind hand? An anvil made of rock, a hammer made of clay But still, tireless, you hammer away You beat and bend and hammer us, down to the bone As we lie all together on the anvil we're alone The trickle of our blood reaches the ground And the anvil's never empty cause there's bodies all around Blacksmith, blacksmith, I hear you yell About so many things, so pray do tell Who's got total control over YOUR life? Is it your people, your children, is it your wife? Will sh

See the man with the white cast Look into his eyes Look into his soul See the woman with the broken face Look into her eyes Look into her soul See the child with the dull eyes Look into those eyes Look into that soul Is this the price we pay For wanting to be free Is this the price we pay For trying to escape our misery? Where is the freedom that was promised us? Where is the peace our fathers fought for? Where is the fruit of the seed That was watered with the blood? All the pain and the sacrifice They made for victory In the desire to be free

Walk in, look around, feel the flashing lights Rest your eyes on the curves of the girl in tights Watch the restless dance of the two-legged animal He's too young to be acting old She's too interested to be acting cold He's too old to be hitting on me I don't swing that way so leave me be Watch your back, watch the floor Watch your drink, watch the whore Watch your boys, watch your back Enjoy your senses all under attack Can you see my skull, under the meat? Can you hear my thoughts? Can you hear them scream? Can you tear off your mask, or mine?

His feet slap the ground as the mob howls The stink of thing burning The vultures are circling They thought they had left it behind back home They thought they'd gotten out before it's too late But now father's dead and mother's raped The smell and the sound of a township on fire All his mind's eye sees is bloodlust and desire To rip and tear all he is into pieces Where do we run when we can run no further? Where do we hide from the pain and the torture? Why aren't we safe in our sister's home? Why do we shake with fear when our brothers come? Wake up, Africa, wake up! All we have is each other Join hands, join minds Instead

Brothers, how long has it been Since you lived free of sin? It's time to rise up Sisters how long Since no-one did you wrong? It's time to rise How long since our children Had more food than could be eaten? It's time to rise up How long since a single day With no one killed or beaten? It's time to rise You have nothing to lose but your chains Nothing to lose but the rich north's change Rise up, let's take what's ours Rise up You have nothing to lose but your pain Blood's no longer precious when it drops like rain Rise up

Try to remember what she said Through the throbbing in my head Back in a world that still made sense Try to picture what went on Back in the world of right and wrong Before the door lets them in again I dig in the drawer for memories And try ignore the melodies Played by the demon in my head Humans are tragic animals, he says And some are fools, like you, my friend Trying to fend off with broken hands Your inevitable end You fooled yourself into believing That they would let you go That you still had something worth giving Something left when they were done with you But I know that your deepest pain Is the look you saw in h

Our story begins like most others do, with confusion, suffering and most importantly a yearning for change and a resolute determination to rise above the confines of a system designed with restrictions in mind. A search for personal freedom, a journey with meaning as the destination and the selfish need of revolution as the starting point. Our hero is not your everyday hero, instead our hero is that part of us which is latent and asleep, but yet it is a part of us which is only dormant, only claiming to be dead but in reality it is only biting its time, waiting for an opportunity to yet again rise over the restrictions that we have put into