COME ON... IT'LL BE A RIOT!


Everyone has the right,
To stick two fingers up to the world,
When they feel let down,
But to what end,
When rioting leads us to moral corruption,
And puts our ethics to one side,
So we spend,
And we spend,
In our minds,
Whilst in reality our belief in the world declines,
As our dreams are unachievable,
Inconceivable,
Unbelievable,
The world owes us our innocence,
The world owes us material objects,
The world must soak up our hatred,
Our bitter disappointments,
Our regrets,
And when faced with the option of looking in the mirror,
Which our parents have moulded to fit their own,
We find ourselves in a resentful, unhappy zone,
Clawing to reclaim pride,
Clawing to be looked up to,
To reside, on someone's pedestal,
On someone's coat-tails we end our ride,
Flocking like sheep to the nearest confident being,
And we find our eyes shut,
Whilst our aspirations are misguidedly seeing,
And no longer are we fleeing,
For we are reborn,
And it consumes us,
Our every being.

And grow we can,
Hold your head up high,
Young man,
You don't need someone else's plan,
Every day feels like wading through treacle,
Like walking into an industrial fan,
And it's easy to get blown off-course, away,
It's easy to find yourself compromised,
To find you end up being led astray,
And whilst the world is full of areas grey,
The darkest recesses of the mind
Are where the trembling shadows of our confidence lay,
And it is picked off like prey,
School becomes a more distant and unrealistic scheme,
Staying home, playing playstation or xbox,
And smoking weed seems like a much more welcome theme,
Parental guidance shrinks to a minimal extreme,
And on friends we find ourselves lean,
But friends have lived a life like ours,
Peers have picked up the same bitter taste,
The same jaw locked into the same hardened scowl,
And while the police are on the prowl,
We become suspects,
In our own minds and theirs,
And no matter how hard you try,
We are faced with a heady mountain of stairs,
Halfway up a slight knock can send us down a slide,
And again we are on that ride.

And then another 'suspect' is killed.
By the fucking police no less,
And by now we are already knee-deep in the mess,
The treacle is getting thicker,
And at last we can achieve our dreams,
At last our aspirations cannot be held back by a price-sticker,
A price tag,
Simply all we wanted for free,
In a dirty old plastic bag,
And up go our hoods;
At least if we were always criminals,
We knew where we stood,
From day one,
As we make it home in one piece,
Dad patting us on the back and saying,
'Well done son!'
Some of our friends being shopped by their mum,
And we polish off our disgruntled label,
SCUM,
And we look at it once more,
And we have reclaimed something,
Evened out the score.
For it was free,
Anonymous,
Our hats, scarves and hoods made us a group,
For on my own I’m sure I am nothing
But with just enough people,
We make a soup, a troupe, a posse,
Nobody can hurt me,
For we are together,
Against the world,
We can bury our shadows at the back of our brains,
And we can numb our problems,
We can bask our faces in the sun,
Whilst our subconscious' rains,
And we can get back to trying to find our place,
In the world's fucked-up,
Youth race.

© Alex Frost 2012