the one per cent

I am floating
on a golden parachute,
I'm eating
with a silver spoon,
I'm watching
every one of you citizens,
every one of you voters,
every one of you consumers,
every one of you termites,
every one of you vermin,
every one of you drones,
every one of you losers,
every one of you nobodies,

and I'm not worried,
I'm not worried because
we can always wait you out,
because you will be distracted by your new iPad
because you will be delighted by the rich, glossy tones
of your healthier-looking hair,
because you'll get the london look,
because we're rolling out super-fast fibre-optic broadband,
because IT'S IN THE GAME,
because it's ford super sunday,
because talk-talk brightens your x-factor,
because they're not called quickquid for nothing,
and because
nine out of ten women agree
it fights the seven signs of ageing.

pitch your tents,
bang your drums,
write to your MP,
boycott our products,
take a piss on the steps of st. paul's cathedral:
whatever.
it doesn't matter.
no one cares:
we own TV,
we own the newspapers,
we own your boss,
we own your boss's boss,
we own hollywood,
we own that silly little black man in the white house,
we mock you openly,
we own the army and we can send you to war,
we own the spies and we can make you disappear,
we own the schools and we can bore your children to death,
we own the police and we can smash your head open.

we are ready,
we've always been ready.

are you ready? really ready?

no, didn't think so,
now run along and get back to work,
get back to the shops,
get back to the internet
get back to your games console,
plug yourself in,
and shut up
before you get hurt.