The state of affairs

are sordid.

The affairs of the state

have undid,

much of what was fought for.

Remember when four to the floor

promised and brought change?

The second summer of love began to rearrange

the world and the way we saw it,

pushed on by basslines and sawtooths.

We’ve ranted for a while, now it’s time to rave,

to take back the fields and misbehave.

To drop acid house on the wicked witch.

To drop a massive jungle on that miserable bitch.

Mother May I have some security?

Give each other a mite of stabilty.

In the form of huge, fuck off speakers

of the house, the techno, the shell toe sneakers.

Use our music and our love to move on up.

The may fields will fill our cup,

with soma and ambrosia and sacrament.

Where is it that the good vibes went?

Start vibrating on a new frequency,

somewhere between 130 and 140

beats per minute.

Eat sleep rave repeat

Rave like a loon.

Rave in the moon.

Light up your face,

for the human race,

and beyond to all living things.

Let your voices ring,

dance and laugh,

and smile and sing.

Cos these are the dark times, we must fight,

and to fight darkness you’ve gotta turn on the light.

So start up the dry ice, turn on the strobe

and let’s dance dance a revolution across the globe


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