Pushing just the same

A poem about the insidious nature of advertising and our consumer culture

The fella on the corner slinging dope is just the same

As the suit up in the boardroom, for their both playing the game

Peddling their products to the fiends out on the streets

Both would call it business, only one giving receipts

Whilst markets wildly differ, both are feeding that same need

One for junk, the other from insecurities to greed

The need to be accepted, fitting in with style and charm

Will f**k you up as badly as a needle in the arm

And the need to have that fix will leave leave you shaking none the less

Instead of fiending for a needle its that brand new car or dress

Or a nice new set of t*****s, or a face thats wrinkle free

Manufacturing addiction for a hooked society

We all hear all the stories, callous junkie crime for cash

And we all cry out for punishment, keen for them to feel the lash

But what about the damage done by business for its bling

Telling us weʼre nothing like that smoking hot new thing

But wait !

Whats that ?

There is a chance for us to be accepted ?

To become a beautiful person and no longer be neglected

You may think that i exaggerate but the truth is often worse

Selling beauty means a thought of ugliness comes first

Selling this economy means a fear of being broke

Selling a war on drugs means fear of those having a toke

And the biggest players on the block are the ones for whom we vote

Feeding fears of terror and invasion from a boat

Building up their own names, the boundaries no longer clear

A thin line between constitution and critics who disappear

At least down on the corner thereʼs a truth about the game

The rules out in the open and its called by its true name

Not hidden behind a sea of suits in the corridors of power

Last vestiges of honesty eroded by the hour

Feeding off a peoples needs, and cultivating addiction

Reaping in the profits while your feeding the affliction

We need to clean ourselves up, social rehabilitation

And resolutely demand no more pushers in our nations

No more demagogues who ride the back of our desires

No more slinging business men selling water for the fires

That they themselves have laid and lit, and held to us the matches

No more corporate pushers selling packages and batches

Promising a cure, selling temporary release

No more addicts slaving for a heart that is at peace