"Eve of Revolution"

Rex Songs' Remixes

by Jeph Johnson 


Our western world it is explodin',
Chaos ragin', democracy erodin',
You're old enough to know so why aren't you out votin'?
You don't believe in smog, but what's that joint you're tokin'?
And the men you elect have your privilege gloatin',

But you tell me over and over and over again my friend,
Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of revolution.

Do you even get what this lunatic's sayin'?

He's got Christians sinnin' and atheists prayin'
For too long we've relied on this old boys club,
There'll be no one to love when push comes to shove,
Take a look around you now, It's gotta stop somehow,

But you tell me over and over and over again my friend,
Ah, you can't yet believe we're on the eve of revolution.

The hope Obama gave us now feels like an illusion,

The enemies we made are a forgone conclusion,
We can't win the war with Jong-un or Putin,
When emails on the server just ain't computin'
The Judges, Prez and Senators will all start colludin'
Attempts to rise up will be met with more shootin'
Instead of revolt we'll all resort to lootin'

And you tell me over and over and over again my friend,
Ah, you sorta think we're on the eve of revolution.

We worry of the hate that comes to us from ISIS

While poisoning our future with a Flint water crisis
Ah, you may be chill for a Netflix marathon,
But when we tune out our message is gone
The media moguls slap us square in the face,
Their big league money is always replaced
Blame their wand'ring lil hands on the thrill of the chase

So you tell me over and over and over and over again my friend,
Ah, you finally know we're on the eve of revolution!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2016, based on "Eve of Destruction" by P. F. Sloan 

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When the Falcon should not Hear the Falconer!

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre,

The falcon cannot hear the falconer”,

So said W.B. Yeats the Irish poet,

So weighty the words are as we know it!


But the falcon should stop hearing the falconer,

And protest like a just fighter,

If the falconer is a corrupted soul,

Submission should not be the falconer’s goal!


Injustice has to be eradicated sooner,


Raising the voice jointly is the effective duster!

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When will This End?

When will this end?

Everyone says that time shall mend,

Yet I don’t think so?

Action is inevitable, something we must do.


They say that patience like fruit juice is sweet,

But I don’t think solution will be brought by it,

History is plagued by instances numerous,

Those who dedicate lives and fight become victorious.


Martin Luther, Nelson Mandela and many more were there,


Fighting for their rights no matter how strong the rivals were!

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Raise Your Voice!

To get rid of injustice,

To live in peace,

You have only one choice,

Raise your voice!


You have to be a lion,

From now on,

You have to be a thunder,

Only then can you create some wonder.


Do not wait for others to protest,

Start with yourself, you will certainly pass life’s tough test!

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Sarcasm (Red, white, and blue)

Don't Shake the politicians red hand,
he'll use violence if you try to make a stand,
because a world without chaos is unknown,
giving the order from their throne,

and you let these people push you around,
you give them money  to pollute our ground,
they make you pay to destroy what they found,
lets all hope they don't make you pay for another ammo round,

its not your fault that they jail you,
you have to give up money for the red white and blue,
take in the horrific sight,
a tyrannical government in the streets at night.

lets use our knowledge and fight the war,
but not with violence like the Armed Core,
the Gi's do the bidding of a communist state,
might as well die if we keep it up at this rate

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a protest song I made.

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Blessed are the peacemakers

You there! Society speaks, why don’t you listen
Because I can see your face with a trace of a glisten
Of a tear. Because you have lost your patriotism
Will you fight for your queen and country
So those less educated, troubled souls can be free
So that you can impose your base of society
Upon those who never asked for your advice
Will you promise not to back out, or think twice
Despite all of the problems that will arise.
Although to be honest, you just follow orders
Like a good soldier. Not a pretender
Who has the temerity to doubt the cause
When his legs are gone, who would pause
To wonder if we should really be here.
So the young impressionable Tommy
Barely twenty and just joined the army
Is sent to a hot, desert country
He never heard of before, that poor young squaddie
He was one of the first to take a tour of duty
And he watched the problems unfold
Watch as his friends sacrificed themselves
So the politicians could squeeze forth
A little more black gold.
It isn’t his fault, it is the fault of politics
Because we have a special relationship
And the worst part of it is, neither us, nor the Americans
Wanted this. We didn’t want to go to war
And we got ignored, the politicians assured
Us we were going to save a nation,
But they didn’t want to be saved
And it was a brave weapons inspector who say
There are no WMD’s in this place.
Before he was silenced for being so brave.
What is done is done though, we saved them from a tyrant
So we did something praiseworthy, but was it worth
The money we spent, all of the lives and blood spilt on
Those sands, all of the guilt for a soldier who was hit
By a roadside bomb, and survived while around him
Lay the rag doll corpses of innocent children.
There is blame on every side, the thing that I still don’t get
Is why haven’t we already pulled out yet
Why are we so eager to offer up generations to a war machine
To crush what would have otherwise been, perhaps a man
Who would have dared to accomplish his dreams.
Let us end this crusade against a holy war,
Because we have already fought
We should not continue this, send those who must be punished to court
Instigate reparations for those who were caught up in the crossfire
And leave the country to it’s own devices. They do not want us there
They do not care for the intervention of a western government, that debonair
Attitude that lets us strut into a country, because we know best
When we have problems at home. We can’t even stop the bank’s crumble
So why should we be the authority on how to solve their troubles
We have dark clouds of our own, and I can already hear them rumble
Because the western world is no longer the king of the jungle.
So blessed are the protestors for speaking out against what they think is wrong
Blessed are the peacemakers because they never wished for this all along
Blessed are the soldiers, the dead and the wounded, for doing their jobs
Blessed are the families for keeping strong.
Blessed are the protestors because they knew this was wrong
Yeah and blessed are the peacemakers, because they never wanted this all along
God please bless us all for what we have done.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Another anti-war poem

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Dreams of demise and the rise from exile

From seats of power, those in control decided to use
their most powerful weapon against the people;
not bombs, or mechanized armies, but an unholy creation
of flesh and blood; a living weapon. To suppress the rebellious
children, who had turned on their elders, punishment came from beyond
the depths of the heavens. From his place of exile, he watched
and waited on the hour their demise would descend.

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The Revolution

In the streets, the people protested; in rage they clashed
against the system, against the laws and the enemy in power;
the losing battle they fought, knowing the beliefs they held onto
were slipping away; knowing the foundations built were
crumbling and the old ways were dying
even as they shouted to the sky and to the corrupt leaders
who looked down from the windows of heaven
Into the dark evening the fires of chaos ascended.

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TV flashes on.
An aged newsman sits behind an oak desk with images of fire and contempt blinking behind him. People in the street, fists raised and faces covered. Blind anger built on blind knowledge. Furious at the system that’s been instilled and followed by none other than themselves.
A Molotov cocktail cracks on a police car. A news van crashes onto its side. Rapture jumps on the van’s passenger window. The glass shatters and blood is bled. The man cries agony and blames anything but himself.
Young field reporter stating it’s senseless, reckless, and anything but justifiable. Notwithstanding the bottling up of oppression over years from profit hungry animals. Insurrectionary joy has surged through the people like a sudden pulse of energy.
The media quells the uprising. “It’s just a few pranksters. Go to sleep. You’re safe in your homes.”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

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