Hands to the Plough

We’re all looking for magic bullets to problems as old as time
Whether it’s a presidential candidate or the latest pharmaceutical line
We want the once and done solution
Typical infomercial education
But what more could be expected from a generation raised by the television
Work smart not hard my son
We’ve been telling our kids the same for years
But a piece of paper can’t teach you the indispensable
Value of blood, sweat and tears

‘no guts, no glory’ as my old man used to always say
The slogan emblazoned on his favourite sweater
As he rode his bicycle to work in the rain
And yeah I still look up to him though I’ve got my own kid these days
Because I’ve been realising that love isn’t a fleeting passion
But a choice you make everyday
And it’s beautiful and alive and exploding with wonder
But it’s still a choice
A conscious act of will not the knee jerk reactions of desire

But we’re all looking for shortcuts to improve our quality of living
Minimal effort for maximum reward
But the end result is disconcerting
Because when you’re handed the finished product
You can’t appreciate its worth
And often learning something the hard way
Is the only way that respect is earned

But when the world is at your fingertips love is reduced to digital invention
We order sex like fast food taking pleasure rather than giving affection
Personalised self gratification
Objectifying sacred innocence
But when the screen goes blank and the bed is empty
You’re left addicted and impotent

We can’t microwave a remedy for the disenchantment that’s in our hearts
It may have the appearance of being satisfying
But inside it’s frozen solid with the hollow watermark of greed
Impatient consumeristic lust
Indulging temporary fulfilment
Our ancestors would be disgusted
And believe me I know the easy way out
Looks pretty damn good sometimes, but it’s never worth it

There’s nothing glamorous about the narrow road
No outward attraction to allure the traveller
You can’t sugar-coat long suffering
It’s a humble path for sacrificial lovers
What else could motive such an expression of countercultural resistance
But for the joy of laying down your life
And in the surrender somehow finding it

Oh adulterous convenience!
I’ve slipped between your sheets too many times to recall
But just because you’re accessible
Doesn’t make you seductions any less detrimental
I’m running back to my first love
Counterfeits will no longer suffice
I regard every alternative as worthless
For the sake of communion no matter the price

I rather endure a thousand years of back-breaking labour by your side
Than abide in affluence under the illusion
That I’m not absent from your presence
Because your nearness is my good
For what does a man profit if he gains the whole world yet forfeits his soul
But as for me I choose intimacy over security
Your nearness is my good