A1) Huegelkultur

symbolically bury authority
the baton handed down for centuries
no longer a tool of brutality
now an instrument of sustainability

wood, a waste of purpose
why smash the cheek instead of caress it
love re-purposes statism

splintered police emblem
mycologically infested
an earthen brain
a sepulcher that springs forth life

an instrument of brutality buried in the ground

i) the main way westerners interact with their environment is through food, and the biggest threat to both the planet and our own health is our disconnect from the earth. return to local, personal, sustainable agriculture or we all die.. ii) a huegelkultur is a mound of wood buried soil that acts as a sponge for spring rains, storing water for plants into the dry summer. so inhume all police batons and other wooden implements of oppression and use them to grow food, not to force compliance.


A2) THE BEAST (SONG OF THE PUNCH PRESS OPERATOR) Pete Seeger and Bernie Packer

I got a job in a factory
Feeding a beast that don't like me.
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel.
And pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth.
Pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth.

Watch your mitts at the start of the stroke,
It's a re-peat killer, and will go for broke;
It shoulda been melted 'bout twenty years back,
But it feeds the boss, and he loves that snack.
Oh, Beast, spare my hands,
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance.
Oh, Beast, spare my hands,
I'll use them to slay you if I get the chance.

There ain't no guards to slow up a man,
Keep your foot on the pedal and your eye on the ram.
If your hand should slip, why, the boss don't shout;
He just buys new fingers as he throws you out.
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws,
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause.
There's plenty of hands to feed the jaws,
The press don't stop when there ain't no cause.

There ain't one man out on the press,
Who wouldn't quit if jobs weren't scarce;
But a man has to have his daily meal,
And that Beast's gotta have its cold, rolled steel.
Deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines.
While deep inside remain the dreams
That make us the masters of the machines.

Well, now, I got a job in a factory
Feeding a beast that don't like me.
It don't give a darn about how I feel
As long as I feed it its ration of steel.
And pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth.
Pity the man who knows the grief
That comes with the bite of that monster's teeth.


A3) MR BLUE - Tom Paxton

Good morning Mister Blue, we've got our eyes on you.
The evidence is clear, that you've been scheming.
You like to steal away and while away the day.
You like to spend an hour dreaming.
What will it take, to whip you into line?
A broken heart?
A broken head?
It can be arranged.

Step softly Mister Blue, we know what's best for you.
We know where your precious dreams will take you.
You've got a slot to fill, and fill that slot you will.
You'll learn to love it, or we'll break you.
Oh, what will it take, to whip you into line?
A broken heart?
A broken head?
It can be arranged.

Be careful Mister Blue this phase you're going through,
Can lead you nowhere else, but to disaster.
Excuse us while we grin, you've worn our patience thin.
It's time to show you who's your master.
What will it take, to whip you into line?
A broken heart?
A broken head?
It can be arranged.

Don't worry Mister Blue, we'll take good care of you.
Just think of it as sense and not surrender.
But never think again, that you can think again,
Or you'll get something you'll remember.
What will it take to whip you into line?
A broken heart?
A broken head?
It can be arranged.

A4) WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR - Phil Ochs

there is danger to the land you call your own
you watch them build the war machine right beside your home
tell me that you are ready to go marching off to war
I know you’re set for fighting, but what are you fighting for?

Turn on your tv, turn it on so loud
And watch the fool a smiling there and tell me that you’re proud
And listen to your radio, the noise it starts to pour
Oh I know you’re set for fighting, but what are you fighting for?

Read your morning papers, read every single line
And tell me if you can believe that simple world you find
Read every slanted word till your eyes are getting sore,

ragged clothes upon your back and sleep upon the ground,
And tell police about your rights as they drag you down,
And ask them as they lead you to some deserted door,

But the hardest thing I’ll ask you, if you will only try
Is take your children by their hands and look into their eyes
And there you’ll see the answer you should have seen before
If you’ll win the wars at home, there’ll be no fighting anymore


A5) THIS SHIT IS KILLING YOU

the pace of your life
the contents of your shopping cart
your office chair
sweatshop underwear
its all connected
and its killing you

open your eyes
read behind the lines
step out of line

every hair out of place
is a step toward leaving no trace

tick tock faster feed the master
can't you see this shit is killing you.

the stress-related illness of the american middle class, the 3rd world child laborer, and the ecosystem are all intertwined. relax and enjoy life a little bit. save yourself, someone else, and the planet.


A6) BIG ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN - Harry McClintock

One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
And he said, "Boys, I'm not turning
I'm headed for a land that's far away
Besides the crystal fountains
So come with me, we'll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
There's a land that's fair and bright,
Where the handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
All the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The farmers' trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay
Oh I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall
The winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
You never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew
And of whiskey too
You can paddle all around it
In a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,
The jails are made of tin.
And you can walk right out again,
As soon as you are in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I'm bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.
I'll see you all this coming fall
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains




A7) The Crow On the Cradle - Sydney Carter

The sheep's in the meadow
The cow's in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
He'll laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if it's a boy he'll carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle

And if it should be that this baby's a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesn't curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle

The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebody's baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebody's baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle

Your mother and father will sweat and they'll save
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For we've got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle

Bring me my gun, and I'll shoot that bird dead
That's what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that I'll leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle