Onze man werd zo overrompeld door de verbale storm van rapster, spoken word-artieste en poëte Kate Tempest dat hij zelf woorden tekortkwam.
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 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
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
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
Kate Tempest, All Humans Too Late live op Pukkelpop 2019. Geen vlaggenzwaaier die daar tegenop kon.