MAN SUPREME THE PERFECT BEING
©Trev Teasdel Coventry March 1969
Man supreme, the perfect being,
Through perfect eyes, the world he’s seeing.
He thrives on mockery, and lives in a human rockery
He’s the all-electric, egocentric, busy-bodied businessman.
Victim of anxiety, member of a stale society.
He’s the all-instinctive, aggressive beast.
Repressed by day, by night released.
He communicates with a silent tongue,
The perfect man can do no wrong.
Man supreme, the perfect being
Through perfect eyes the world he’s seeing
He preaches love but really hates.
He pulls the ground from below his mates.
He’s a playful thing with his tanks and guns.
Sometimes from his conscience runs.
Red disturbing jealousy, trembles throughout his tranquillity.
He’s the narrow-minded navigator,
The inadvertent instigator.
He sings a silent song,
The perfect man can do no wrong.
Man supreme the perfect being
Through perfect eyes the world he’s seeing
He’s toiling all the boiling day
Then plodding home for rest and play.
Making love and tenderness,
Sinking in a warm caress.
Mass producing countless kids,
Hope they’re thin like paint can lids
Ambition haunts his tiny mind,
If greed is free then greed you’ll find
Angry words that penetrate
Whilst you’re down he’ll dominate.
Why do they build their castles strong
If the perfect man can do no wrong?