Andy Carrinton

The Fight For Love

Pricks point and snarl
as we walk on by,
white and brown,
hand in hand,
attempting to go
where we please.

Freedom? Pah, it’s a myth.

Every corner there’s a man
in builders clothing
or a three-piece suit

Muttering to himself
like we’re some form
of foreign disease.

“We should each stick
to our own; this country’s
in even trouble as it is.”

Yeah, I hear ya, moron,

I betrayed my race

And now the BNP
doesn’t like either of us.

The Daily Mail’s on it, too,
saying the white population
will decline rapidly
if we keep this up.

Fuck ‘em.

We’re British born

and bred;

No, in fact,
we’re like Vice Versas
-- about to make interracial
babies JUST BECAUSE
WE CAN.

Many friends have said
that I must have the soul
of a black or Indian
just ‘cause I’m willing
to mix,

And most will think
of me as insane
when I say I could never
see the good in the dizzy
blondes or gothic bitches
of this world.

But ever since around
the age of twenty
I’ve had a thing for chocolate
women… I won’t deny,

And the more I begin
to piece together my heart
and feel less and less
accepted in this country,

The more I begin
to understand the words
you once said, in faith,
as I spent one
of my nights alone,
wondering if we were ever
gonna be:

“The division of colour,
the division of class,
they're all false;

The only real and true thing
here… is love.”

And I’m not ashamed
now to say that I think
you may be right.

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