Tag Archive: Lyrical Butchery

They Still Haven’t Found What I’m Eligible For (to the tune of U2′ I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For)

I have climbed the highest staircase
I have jumped through the hoops
only to feed myself
only to feed myself
I’ve had to stand, had to crawl
I have filled in all the forms
all the forms
only to feed myself

But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for
But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for

I have kissed workplace arses
felt the loathing in the furtive glances
it burned like ire
with me deep in the mire
I’ve not heard any tongues of angels
but I have held my hand out to devils
it was cold in the night
I was kicked like a dog

But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for
But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for

I don’t believe the day will come
when right-wing bastards would bleed into one
bleed into one
But yes I’m still dreaming
You bought your bonds
Your private planes
You profited handsomely
and caused my shame
oh my shame
You know I can prove it

But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for
But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for

But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for
But they still haven’t found
what I’m eligible for

Song Of The Day ~ U2 – I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For


The Night Mail now flies over the border
and no-one writes cheques or a postal order
letters to the rich, letters to the poor
are scarcely written by hand any more
the Post Office itself faces privatisation
whilst the night trains sit empty in unmanned stations
and if you have luggage you’ll not find a porter
tho’ the motorway’s is gridlocked with lambs to the slaughter

the days are long gone of the romance of steam
where engine driver was every young boy’s dream
the great railways were victims of capitalist teaching
as the branch lines were axed by the butcher Beeching
in the 21st century a person’s assignations
are not even limited to their own nations
but written by email with smiley faces
and sent to their lovers in distant places

the planes break the peace of sleepy villages
bringing news of the bankers latest pillages
landing and take-off with deafening noise
not causing the smiles of starry-eyed boys
no posters of wonder of coastal resorts
no heed taken to environmental reports

the receivers of mail do not feel any pain
that their utility bills are not brought by the train
but scowling and sleepy rip open the post
and clutching the contents recycle the most
almost all have forgotten that a personal letter
can start the morning off so much better

When dawn freshens the plane’s are down
to faceless depots they’ve descended
Towards the retail parks at the sanitised parts of town
Towards the fields of disused factories and derelict works
set on the dark plain like giant sarcophagi
None of Scotland waits for them
Men and women are more worried about their jobs
than they are about news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks
letters of spam for woman and man
receipted bills and some citations
of banking scams from bogus relations
and applications for situations
and debt collectors’ declarations
and recession, recession from all the nations
News subjective, right-wing invective
incessant jingles from Compare The Market
Statements and rumours about how Jacko carked it
Nigerian bank accounts from “Great Uncles” or “Aunts”
and fake lotto wins from Holland or France
most people are more interested in celebrity Twitter
as the economy rapidly goes right down the shitter
the junk mail comes printed in every hue
whilst the once glorious forests dwindle to few

the fatty, the smoker, coughing and snoring
who may soon be denied medical care without warning
viagra, vicodin, enlarge your equipment
we’ll save you £s on your next codeine shipment

Thousands are still asleep
dreaming of terrifying monsters
or of paid-off overdrafts, mortgages or shopping sprees
asleep in gangland Glasgow, asleep in drug-ridden Edinburgh
asleep in depressed Aberdeen
they continue their nightmares
and shall wake soon and long for companionship
and none will hear the computer’s bleep
without a quickening of the heart
For who can bear to risk a computer virus?

Song Of The Day ~ Bombay Bicycle Club – Dust On The Ground