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.