Re: [Marxism] Saint Bono

[D OC <donaloc@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

>> Bono is no man of peace--he has yet to speak out against any war.

 

Well, that is aside from the IRA's struggle in the north of Ireland of course...

 

Sunday Bloody Sunday (with commentary)

 

Broken bottles under childrens feet
Bodies strewn across the dead end street
But I wont heed the battle call
It puts my back up
Puts my back up against the wall


[Sings he to a compliant British media loving to hear this scion of Dublin tell 
the Derry people how their struggle 'puts his back up against the wall'. Guilty 
conscience or what?]


Sunday, bloody sunday

And the battles just begun
There's many lost, but tell me who has won
The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart


[Yep, the problem is community relations not British imperialism.]


Sunday, bloody sunday
Sunday, bloody sunday

How long...
How long must we sing this song? 
How long? how long...

cause tonight...we can be as one
Tonight...


[just like that...] 


And its true we are immune
When fact is fiction and tv reality
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die


[What are you fighting about here when all those poor people are starving 
elsewhere...]


The real battle yet begun (sunday, bloody sunday)
To claim the victory jesus won (sunday, bloody sunday)


[Jesus has already won victory. You just have to sit back and enjoy it - why 
fight?]

 

Like so many other Irish stars, Bono would not be so famous if it weren't for 
his ability to sell his pro-British liberal credentials.

 

Compare and contrast with Christie Moore - a man who destroyed his career 
repeatedly because of his working class politics. The lyrics alone are on a 
different plane of reality...two classics if you haven't seen them before.

 

On The Bridge

 

There's thirty people on the bridge and they're standing in the rain
They caught my eye as I passed them by, they tried to explain
Why they were standing there, I did not want to hear
When trouble gets too close to home, my anger turns to fear

With my eyes turned to the ground I moved along
I covered up my ears and I held my tongue
The rain poured down relentlessly upon the picket line
And the empty words fell from my lips, "Your troubles are not mine"

Though the rain it made the colours run the message it was plain
Women are being strip searched in Armagh jail

We kneel in adoration before effigies of stone
Our eyes turned to heaven blind to what's going on
Six women hold a naked woman pinned down on the floor
Without trial or jury, like a prisoner of war

Though the rain it made the colours run the message it was plain
Women are being strip searched in Armagh and Brixton Jail

 

 

 

Hey Ronnie Reagan

 

I remember the show twenty-one years ago,
When John Kennedy paid us a visit.
Now the world's rearranged - not improved, only changed -
But our heart's in the same place - or is it? 


CHORUS

Hey Ronnie Reagan, I'm black and I'm pagan,
I'm gay and I'm left and I'm free.
I'm a non-fundamentalist environmentalist,
Please don't bother me. 


You're so cool, playing poker with death as the joker,
You've nerve, but you don't reassure us.
With those paranoid vistas of mad Sandanistas,
Are you really defending Honduras?
You'll be wearing the green down at Ballyporeen,
The town of the little potato.
Put your arms around Garret and dangle your carrot,
But you'll never get me to join NATO.
       
CHORUS
       
Do you share my impression the world's in recession,
There's rather too much unemployment?
Still with Pershing and Cruise we'll have nothing to lose,
But millions in missile deployment.
We can dig shelter holes when we've bartered our souls,
For security then we can shovel.
While the myth of our dreams turns to nightmares, it seems,
>From the White House straight back to the hovel. 
       

CHORUS
       

Since the Irish dimension has won your attention,
I ask myself just what's your game.
Do your eyes share the tears of our last fifteen years,
Or is that just a vote-catcher's gleam?
Your dollars may beckon, but I think we should reckon,
The cost of accepting your gold.
If we join your alliance, what price our defiance,
What's left if our freedom is sold? 


 

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