The Hall of Zeroes
Is packed with liars and thieves
Big mouths and heads who said
then led you nowhere
sell outs and creeps
In the Hall of Zeroes
That is all you will see.
they’re having an episode
It’s a repeat
The hall is full of gawping fools
Who don’t know
they are there to clean
and polish the Zeroes medals
and kiss their fucking feet
There’s a Hall of Zeroes
In your high street
It’s the finest building
That I guarantee
who paid for this palace?
It was you and me
It looked like it would stand there
for all eternity
and yet last night they torched it!
In your fucking dreams.
Brent Jackson 09/08/2018
I’ve been in a lot of bands.
Over the many years I’ve luckily survived.
They’re families, tribes and gangs.
Don’t argue they are.
We had a band in the early days me and my mate who cooked up music from bits I gave him and his own bits, We’ll call him Stu for fun.
Short for stupor as we practised derangement of the senses as advocated by all our favourite artists.
We were children who hated the Society we’d been marooned in.
We wanted to ridicule it and precipitate change based on our childlike belief that anything would be better than the unfair grim bollocks we saw.
We called the band Hells Donkeys.
An angry noise designed to shock and annoy.
We couldn’t afford the good things in music our folks had spent all their money in stuff from adverts.
We played stolen instruments and borrowed a couple of amps then avoided the owners indefinitely.
We were rich in ideas and desire but they don’t get you studio time and transport and stuff.
We had to find finance somehow or the dream was pointless and we’d be stuck jamming in a shed.
We had to compromise and invite the posh boy to join because he had a van and equipment and money.
We’ll call him Peter not peat.
Because that was his name.
We knew he considered himself superior in every department to us but the ‘mission’ we decided was worth it..and laughing about him while he was up the bar getting the drinks in got us past the
frustration of having to pollute our muse with the very type we despised.
He wanted to be in a family, a gang, a tribe because his was rubbish.
These uptight snob folk feared intimacy as they craved it and couldn’t help scheming and condescending to compensate.
He diluted are vibe and made loads of pretentious suggestions that threatened to spoil our style.
Peter not peat.
He didn’t get that our music, songs and attitude were forged like firedogs on the brazier from years of the heat of heartfelt disbelief at the insane circus.
Not for Peter not peat tho’
His folks worked for the circus and were close friends with the ring master you see.
Everything we did was compromised by his contribution and tuning out the embarrassment at his entitlement and affectation drove us slightly sly and bonkers.
That’s the world, that’s art.
The will to change and challenge to live a new way held back by deluded clowns.
It still drives me n Stu mad.
It’s still the same.
Peter not peat.