we are all musicians
we are all travellers
they all try their best
to ensure we have a ticket
and know our destination
yes, we are all musicians
and you, Mr. Educated are with us
you hate us because you cannot see the art beneath your pen
and the message behind your agenda
we all have pens and paper
we all visit the chemist
for our fix; to fix us
and diagnose to pacify
our voices for profit
we all sleepwalk and stop when the lights are red
we all do justice to our dreams
in waking up and looking ahead
up in the clouds, the soldiers’ uniforms burst at the seams
we are all artists
we were all once babies
dreaming awake to find everything anew
our mothers coloured between the lines
of the morbid monotone of age
and protected us from the flashlights on stage
we are all writers and we are all travellers
john sits at his desk, makes rhythms of mouseclicks
louise colour codes her filing system, paints
skye connects names to faces, portraiture