Implied Ownership (or why the music industry deserves what is coming to it)

There exists a people whose homeland is Earth,

the national anthem a cacophony like an orchestra giving birth

with every note worth more

than the plastic gold formed into discs holding musical scores.

A land overflowing with that precious milk and honey

of a million voices making endless choices that outlast mere power and money.

The funny thing is the gamekeeper has turned poacher

after decades of mismanagement and movements for cloture

on any discussion between the talent and the fan

or that gallant young man who,

disillusioned by the quality of what’s being produced

has flown the roost of the gamekeeper whose only concern is his profit reduced;

who has loosed the hounds now baying at the door

of policy makers, movers and shakers, the industry’s whore

to turn the rebel’s yell into “more, more, more”,

a tactic with some measure of success heretofore.

Loyal fan labelled “pirate” for steeling by cable

the hard work of artists both willing and able

to make more than mere product but art for their label

instead of scrabbling for scraps falling from the table

laden with a banquet for those fattened with greed

feeding from the carcasses of those they promised to lead

before striking them down with serpentine speed

not knowing how foolish they’ve been not to heed

warnings from those refusing to pay through the nose

for a few lumps of plastic, folded paper and prose;

an insulting vehicle for they who chose to compose

a melodic stage upon which their souls to expose.

Until the gamekeepers listen, I wholeheartedly implore

each and all of you pirates to prepare for a war

and steal everything they have and just a little bit more

teaching them to handle with care what you and I most adore.

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