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Roy Harper |
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Miscellaneous |
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I Hate the White Man |
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Far across the ocean |
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In the land of look and see |
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There once was a time |
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For you and me |
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Where the winds blow sweetly |
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And the easy seas flow still |
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And where the barefoot dream of life |
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Can laugh and cry its fill |
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Where slot machine confusion |
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And the plastic universe |
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Are objects of amusement |
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In the fiction of their curse |
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And where the crazy whiteman |
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And his teargas happiness |
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Lies dead and long since buried |
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By his own fantastic mess |
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For I hate the whiteman |
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And his plastic excuse |
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For I hate the whiteman |
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And the man who turned him loose... |
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And the reins of coloured thunder |
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Of the stallion of the dawn |
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Ride the coalfire morning |
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On the beach where all is born |
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Where the emperor of meaning |
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Is burning up his fort |
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And sits to warm his toes around |
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A fire made up of useless thoughts |
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And when the children tempt him |
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With the riddles of their trance |
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He flings the flames of solstice |
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Casting laughs into their dance |
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And where the crazy whiteman |
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In the desert of his bones |
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Lies as bleached as the paradise |
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He likes to think he owns |
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And I hate the whiteman |
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In his evergreen excuse |
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Oh I hate the whiteman |
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And the man who turned him loose... |
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And far across the reaches |
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Of the drifting yellow sands |
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The living carpet wilderness |
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Forever joins its hands |
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With heaven hell's attainment |
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In a surging crest of fire |
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Where more than all is thrown upon |
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The ever lasting pyre |
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And through the countless canticles |
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Of Jason's charcoal fleece |
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Are sung the songs of nothing |
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In the timeless masterpiece |
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And there stood in the middle |
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Guess who? |
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It's the everlasting burst |
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Built by god's very own whiteman |
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As he tries to rule the dust |
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And I hate the whiteman |
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In his doctrinaire abuse |
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Oh I hate the whiteman |
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And the man who turned you all loose... |
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And the bowels of his city |
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Have been locked into a safe |
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Where the spew stains on the sidewalks |
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Are defenders of his faith |
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While back inside his kitchen |
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The bowler hatted, long haired saint |
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Cleans with soap and water |
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But it's really just white paint |
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While his gorgon headed scandal |
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Sheet presents its daily bite |
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To give the righteous news-believers |
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Drugs to keep them white |
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While outside in the whitewash |
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Where the guns are always (always) right |
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The shooting star has summoned |
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Death's dark angel from his night |
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And I hate the whiteman |
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And his evergreen excuse |
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Oh I hate the whiteman |
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And the man who turned you all loose |
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And the man who turned him loose... |
