The Cracked Bell

( inspired by my very recent viewing of "so long, Marianne." - about the late great leonard cohen. )

The market’s a stage, we’re his tangled strings—
steel towns still dance on his rusted dreams,
he trades our souls for his profit-machine’s cogs,
Hallelujah, we’re trapped in the clown-king’s mental fog.
Peace? A page ripped, flushed down his sink,
Putin drinks midnight, redraws the brink,
Trump steals the spotlight, but thinks like a slug—
Hallelujah, we’re props for those thoughtless dumb shrugs.
Economy’s a joke—debt’s a rope, we’re marionettes,
kneeling in shadows where his greed infects,
our prayers are taxes, our labor his checks—
Hallelujah, he cracks more whips on our broken necks.
The globe’s a toy crushed in his grip,
alliances snap with each greed-fuel quip,
he sells our air, steals the wind, then claim it’s HIS gift—
Hallelujah, to the fool who wrecks his own ship.
Oh Charlie, the script’s scrawled in oil and spite,
the rich bomb the poor, call it “progress,” call it right,
we gasp through the smoke as he yanks the strings tight—
Hallelujah… Hallelujah…
We’re all dead puppets in his profit-fucked fight.