' Sore Head '
by Thaddeus Hutyra

John Paddington had it enough
What was the fault of the banks
and of the global corporations
was always poured on him
and down the throats of people like him

The governments, owned by the rich
made a laughing stock of the poor
It was clear like the blue sky
of his beloved Californian skies
and made him feel like a shag on a rock

But he knew it also was the case
in every corner of the world
whether under the alpine skies
the skies of Himalayas, Siberia’s skies
the Abu Dhabi ones or whatever other ones

There always was just double sound
the arrogant laugh of the rich
and desperate outcry of the poor
an awful melody somehow as old
as the civilisations themselves

‘ Say, say, John Paddington
why do you think it is so ?
Why there is no chance
something better replaces all this ? ‘
His friend, Franky Bond asked him

John Paddington bursted with laugh
ironical one
‘ I don’t think you don’t know
my dear Franky Bond
You know it good the rich have resources
and we the poor have nothing at all

We can’t say let bygones be bygones
because if we do we’re even worse off
with every passing moment of the day
drowning in miseries we can’t solve anymore

You know they can bring their police 
onto the streets we grew up on
They look like soldiers in a foreign land 
equipped in military fashion
against us, the defenceless civilians

There is a say you better stay silent
if you do not want to end
being wounded or even dead
by shots from the trigger happy cops ‘

Franky Bond, his best friend
looked at him curiously
‘ You know, Mr Paddington
you look like a bear with a sore head
Let’s cheer up, drink more beer
you shall look like a cat that got the cream ‘

They both laughed then aloud
drank beer, one after another one
Politics was a dead theme
the poor had no chance against the rich
and there was no reason
to waste time by hitting with their heads
against the walls of the iron fist

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