Nice Cover art. song issa vibe. keep uo the work bro!

That’s the right song at the right time!

Composed, performed, programmed & produced by Wavesword "Marsy" Mars

Lyrics reproduced by the artist:

And now we present, as they
Stand in contemplation before some
Dutch painting in the National Gallery,
Thoughts of a farmer of London’s preferred crop:
Sterling.

Verse 1
Without alarm I spend, through the vales of a label
Whose peace my uneasiness tends,
Buy mink as a favour to the wolf,
And something in a print of leopard for the shepherd;
Without charm I spend, Hermes for love’s casing,
The ‘main for the girl whose love I’m wasting
Alienated from the principle that’d make me
Conspicuous spending’s own Roger Casement.
Without aim I spend, except maybe the simulation
Of well-dressed fame that’s freedom’s approximation;
But only its approximation – applaud a revolutionary’s stand
And then buy the revolutionary’s trainers.
Principles, they once would’ve died for ‘em– 
Now they beg a sweat shop stitch in time for them.
I always fancied myself incorruptible
Before I saw how you made corrupting fun,
Before you showed me how what I take’s what I’m worth,
But then that somewhere in the sterling murk lurks
Some untold relation of the fact of our consumption,
And the rapidly diminishing inheritance that is this Earth,
And that anyway, the sterling don’t stop a man,
From putting his abuse on me, based on the shade of blue on my back,
The melanin he has or he lacks,
The sterling don’t pop the whip’s crack.
But the Sterling don’t care,

The Sterling goes ch-ching-ch-ching-ching;
I try to clip the spending dove’s wings,
But its songs of excess grounded still sings,
We’re mated for life by register’s rings.

Premonitions of my end arriving high on a pitiless
Horizon, like I were a Dutch Isis fighter
With a Dutch painter’s finer sensibilities
I will not beg ‘em like Shamima
But face my end with the depth and taste of Dutch paint
And the Queens pon my riches bear no tears admiring in
Their eyes at my heroic sacrifice, if anything their smile more beguiles,
Like I must be a hero to be so rich.
You see, the fault, my friend, is within ourselves; we spend,
Treat all ends as means to their own end,
In a madness of the very fortunate, importunate
Within all those once shamed to be poor.
Innit a shame that only gated in excess
Can our sense of security securely reside?
That I feel dirty enough to die without
Enough sterling in the pocket to clutch?

In a madness of the very fortunate, I’m extorted
By the force of my own fantasia,
I’m not so rich as I paint myself, though I must
Say, I paint myself very well.
I pay only for entry into the state of ignorance, and
Maybe ignorance is the one blessed state – set it high on foresight
And life becomes the slow matter of the unlivable,
Much like the Dutch Isis fighter.

It’s not about gold, it’s about souls;
And deep down, everybody knows.

Verseus

Enough Sterling in the Pocket

"Like a Dostoyevsky novel you can dance to..."

Baroque-hop, London blend

^)^

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