A journey under the dirty rainbow

The defeated women stand losing their living,
Their fatherless children sit and are given a televised upbringing.
They look down from the edge of streets at the illusion, 
It’s a mixture of lust and power that create their trade’s fusion,
They’re trapped within carnal desires coloured purple,
The trade of give and regret and love turned full circle.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
Dodging and weaving the hawkers we now go,
See their starving hands stealing to see tomorrow.
They have scars as proof of some existence,
Bitter hatred for a life without subsistence.
Little fists clutch dreams swelling in the cape of no hope.
See their open hands filled with fairy dust called dope.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
The stink of gun metal is tattooed on his heart,
He creates violence and suffering as a means to his identities start.
His peers debate his actions and decide on his inclusion,
He maintains their ideals but it’s but blind folded confusion.
His struggle against the oppressor have been lynched,
Yet his fight swings inside of him unhinged.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
Her fingers cut into the sordid dirt,
Her dripping heart revealed by her ripped shirt.
His hands stuff her screams back down her throat,
In one broken heart beat her love is shattered by his cowardly gloat.
They blame his culture, her clothes and his education,
But everyone knows it’s a fucking façade for fornication.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
They suck up their addiction,
From nostrils to brains to just a little emotion.
“Hey bra I’m like sky high”,
“Well bra it’s high time you died”. 
They stab at their thought to prevent denial, 
Too ashamed to acknowledge that it’s their fear on trial.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
 
They wake up and put a pot of life on the boil,
Their white caffeinated collars lay pressed and ready for the spoil.
They have plastic digits instead of crimson souls,
Materialistic beliefs help them cope with values they’ve borrowed.
They kiss their 2.5 children and then it’s a goodbye,
Off to school for the youth to have their dreams buried by syllabi.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
In front of the congregation he stands dressed in gold,
All power taken from the holy and sold.
The penniless people sit and give their tithe, 
They’re told it’s a small price to pay to escape the hell bound dive.
The pastor opens up with the scriptures he’s “rema-stered”,
The people sit and assimilate his desires for which they’ve fasted.
Cup your hands can you hear the taxis thumping?
All the while our people are jumping.
They sit in their office and pretend they represent, 
A nation of power that they’ve traded and spent.
They stand at the execution of hope and wear a proud smile,
While were hung out on the rainbow that they wring out and then defile.
People cast they’re votes and pray for they’re lives to be changed, 
But they’re crucified on their penned crosses and a new king is ordained.  
Do you see that our fists are white knuckled and pumping?
Open the doors here comes the revolution thumping