(Those who’ll come after us)

To stop the rise of a virtual world,
I strike a chord
And feel my real guitar sounding, round me !
Against the web and e-mail dump,
Friend beats your drum
To send our “tom-tom” grievance, hurry !
Even if it cannot make a change (We know !)
We stand up, our music tools clenched
To play for you …
To refuse their transgenic food
Pipe up your flute
Like they’ve done in Seattle, yeah !
To prevent any clone perspectives,
Shake your percussions seeds
To sow our father’s legacy, hurray !
Between a flashback and what’s forthcomin’
We play the strings
To step back and think it over is what we need !
Behold ! Your son will be your judge
So clap your hands and budge
Now or never, for the sharing we’ll take heed !