October The 12th Roy Harper

Why throw flowers on my grave when I'm dead?
Why paint pictures of with the blood that I shed
Why try to copy any word of what I said
When I hated you all when I was living

Why do I waste time trying to create
Why do I still try to communicate
When you do nothing save coagulate
Making bad pretenses of pretending

Why do just sit around counting the days
Why do you act in so many fickle ways
Why does it take all your types to make this world rotate
When almost all of you are hardly breathing?

And who can tell me what religion is for?
And which idiot thinks that a religion is any more
Than just another product of that same religious soul
That flows through time as through a retching body?

How can you ban the bomb
Without first you ban the war
How can you ban the war
Without first you ban the peace
Why does someone talk of peace and someone else of war
When each one is a product of the other