Luongo: What I Want To Know Is How Angry Are You, Really?
Authored by Tom Luongo via Gold, Goats, 'n Guns blog,
In another life I used to be a poet and, at times, your classic black-trench-wearing, cigarette-smoking art fag. Angry didn’t begin to cover what was my default state of being in my 20’s.
My poor Rickenbacker 4003 has taken a lot of abuse over the years with me taking my frustrations out on it rather than going postal. Yeah, musician too folks, but the livestream regulars already know this.
Fast forward to my late 30’s and the post-Lehman Bros. Era dominated by central bank created fake markets and I’m whiling away away 250+ miles from home watching the acceleration of the degradation of Western society from my man cave cum laboratory breathing enough hydrogen and ethylenediamine to drive even a Mormon missionary to violence.
It was during this period in 2011 I wrote the following lyrics. For those of you who think this blog is something new for me, something that came out of the potential euphoria of a Trump Presidency as Successful Insurrection Against the Banksters, no.
My problem is I’ve always been 10 years ahead of the game.
So, on this morning where the r/WallStreetBets army are taking on the most systemically important and vulnerable market in the world, silver, this song’s for you.
What I Want to Know
Why do the worst always get to the top?
Be it a lawyer, banker or roided-up cop
Who flies off in a rage when I quote him the law,
defendin’ myself. Man! That’s the last straw.
But may it is that’s the gig with The Rules,
To use by the Rulers on the Ruled.
Shout down the Speakers, but defend the disturbed
and throw all those deadbeats and their kids to the curb.
Let ’em drug up your kids while they Tazer your Granny
Or else… Here’s Nurse Ratched, the Inquisitor Nanny.
So, What Do I Want… and Where Am I Going?
And why is Bernanke seen as all knowing?
And Where is the Horse and Where is the Rider?
And Where are my keys, and Why am I wider?
Why do I hurt when I’m so broken and numb?
Why do we continue to fight for their crumbs?
When will the revolts turn from Red to Brown?
Forget Violet or Orange! Stop trusting in clowns?
Shantih! Shantih! A seeming finale…
Conceived and produced by one, Alistair Crowley.
What I want to know….
What I want to know….
What I want to know….
The Dude’s not abiding, Mr. Wales is plumb mean,
It’s enough to make even the most rational “Green.”
The envy, the hate, the statistics, the jokes
All mask the real problem that everyone’s broke.
The bridges are falling and the culture’s decaying…
And even the hair of the dog’s begun graying.
Everyone’s shouting and fingers are pointed
But anger makes everything sound so disjointed.
And it’s that more than terr’ism needs killin’
Less Hillary, Palin or Limbaugh, more Dylan.
What I want to know….
What I want to know….
What I want to know….
Just askin’ questions won’t get it done.
You’d better sack up or they’ve already won.
Just find your voice along with your balls
and get hold of this barrel before it reaches the falls…
But wait there’s much more than I don’t understand
As I stop and I turn to the guys in my band
and ask them what they think’s going on…
Do they like the cut of the jib of this song?
They turn to me and say that I am in charge
As long as this ship’s more a cruise than a barge
Get back in the groove, Man, and make a fresh start
The whole is much more than the sum of our parts.
It’s real good advice and it cuts through the thickness
But doesn’t get down to the source of the sickness.
So, here’s my best offer Mr. Congressman Thievin’
Why don’t you go fuck yourself, and we’ll call it even.
What I want to know,
is when you will go
and leave us alone.
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