But what's to be done

When the only way to defend ourselves

From what we've created

Is to merge with it?

What can be done to stay human?

The racist is drunk on the train

The racist is drunk on the internet

The racist is drunk at my dinner table

Shouting his gun shots and killing us all

They still live

Those kind and their dead are still living

And yes, the anger is rising

The fury

The which side are you on?

The when will the guilty be called to account?

And what can we know of affection?

I walk in these grave-yard days

And I watch how the pixels proclaim

What they sell to be health food

And we're dead

All of me knows it

We should be preparing ourselves

We should be meeting the stages of death in our dreams

Noticing all that we sense in a fond way

Aware that the ears and the taste buds won't work when the soul goes out

We should be down on our knees in the dirt

Dizzy in rocks

On coastlines

Shivering

We should be fasting two days out of seven

Sleeping in shifts with the others who share our households

To make sure that at all times someone is up with the candle

Instead

We are online

Venting our Outrage

Teaching the future that life is performance and vanity

Post a quick death threat

Drunk every evening

Sick from the radiated meat

Sucking on pork ribs

And summoning pornography

So that we can come when we fuck

Our partners don't know us

Our families are strangers

Our friends make us nervous

There is a well in the pit of the city that we dance around

Sucking and slime-banked

Whatsapp group chat

Beers in the sunshine

Behind the noise you can feel it

The heat from this well

Our minds are racing into the dead

We hurl everything against the stop of the blank hand that muffles the mouth

But we can't win

I see how blind I've been said all prophets, too late

All humans

Too late

***

Kate Tempest, All Humans Too Late live op Pukkelpop 2019. Geen vlaggenzwaaier die daar tegenop kon.