Jeremiah 25:32 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, Behold, evil shall go forth from nation to nation, and a great whirlwind shall be raised up from the coasts of the earth.
IMAGE FOR THE DAY
LYRIC FOR THE WEEK
Warning lights are flashing down at quality control. Somebody threw a spanner, they threw him in the hole. There’s rumors in the loading bay and anger in the town. Somebody blew the whistle, and the walls came down.
There’s a meeting in the boardroom, They’re trying to trace the smell. There’s leaking in the washroom, There’s a sneak in personnel.
Somewhere in the corridors, Someone was heard to sneeze. Goodness me Could this be Industrial disease?
The caretaker was crucified for sleeping at his post. Refusing to be pacified, it’s him they blame the most. The watchdog’s got rabies, the foreman’s got fleas. Everyone’s concerned about industrial disease.
There’s panic on the switchboard, tongues in knots. Some come out in sympathy, some come out in spots. Some blame the management, some the employees. Everybody knows it’s the industrial disease.
Yeah, and now the work force is disgusted, downs tools and walks. Innocence is injured, experience just talks. Everyone seeks damages, everyone agrees That these are “classic symptoms of a monetary squeeze”.
On ITV and BBC they talk about the curse. Philosophy is useless, theology is worse. History boils over there’s an economics freeze. Sociologists invent words that mean “industrial disease”.
Doctor Parkinson declared, “I’m not surprised to see you here. You’ve got smokers cough from smoking, brewer’s droop from drinking beer. I don’t know how you came to get the Betty Davis knees, But worst of all, young man, you’ve got industrial disease.”
He wrote me a prescription he said, “You are depressed. I’m glad you came to see me to get this off your chest. Come back and see me later. Next patient, please. Send in another victim of industrial disease.”
Oh, splendid.
I go down to speaker’s corner. I’m thunderstruck. They got free speech, tourists, police in trucks. Two men say they’re Jesus. One of them must be wrong. There’s a protest singer, he’s singing a protest song. He says,
“They wanna have a war to keep their factories. They wanna have a war to keep us on our knees. They wanna have a war to stop us buying Japanese. They wanna have a war to stop industrial disease.
They’re pointing out the enemy to keep you deaf and blind. They wanna sap your energy, incarcerate your mind. Give you “Rule Britannia”, gassy beer, page three. Two weeks in España and Sunday striptease.”
Meanwhile, the first Jesus says, “I’d cure it soon. Abolish Monday mornings and Friday afternoons.” The other one’s on a hunger strike, he’s dying by degrees How come Jesus gets industrial disease?
Psalm 5:11 But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee.
Acts 20:33-34I have coveted no man’s silver, or gold, or apparel. Yea, ye yourselves know, that these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me.
Job 7:21 And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away my iniquity? for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.
Isaiah 42:23 Who among you will give ear to this? who will hearken and hear for the time to come?
IMAGE FOR THE DAY
LYRIC FOR THE WEEK
It was a slow day And the sun was beating On the soldiers by the side of the road There was a bright light A shattering of shop windows The bomb in the baby carriage Was wired to the radio
These are the days of miracle and wonder This is the long distance call The way the camera follows us in slo-mo The way we look to us all The way we look to a distant constellation That’s dying in a corner of the sky These are the days of miracle and wonder And don’t cry baby, don’t cry Don’t cry
It was a dry wind And it swept across the desert And it curled into the circle of birth And the dead sand Falling on the children The mothers and the fathers And the automatic earth These are the days of miracle and wonder This is the long distance call The way the camera follows us in slo-mo The way we look to us all The way we look to a distant constellation That’s dying in a corner of the sky These are the days of miracle and wonder And don’t cry baby, don’t cry Don’t cry
It’s a turn-around jump shot It’s everybody jump start It’s every generation throws a hero up the pop charts Medicine is magical and magical is art The Boy in the Bubble And the baby with the baboon heart
And I believe These are the days of lasers in the jungle Lasers in the jungle somewhere Staccato signals of constant information A loose affiliation of millionaires And billionaires and baby These are the days of miracle and wonder This is the long distance call The way the camera follows us in slo-mo The way we look to us all The way we look to a distant constellation That’s dying in a corner of the sky These are the days of miracle and wonder And don’t cry baby, don’t cry Don’t cry
( Boy in The Bubble by Paul Simon and Forere Motloheloa )