Blood for Fuel

Blood for fuel, a generation of genocide,
blood for fuel, freedom and hell collide.

During World War Two, the East Timorese
were as brave as mice wrestling pythons,
in support of Aussie guerrilla forces
combatting the Japanese.
If future Australian governments
showed their gratitude,
a stoned chimp invented trigonometry,
shortly after Nigeria
sent Sputnik to the surface of Mercury.

Blood for fuel, a generation of genocide,
blood for fuel, freedom and hell collide.

In 75,’ Radio Kupang
was about as subtle as the big bang,
with suggestive bursts of machine fire.
Before the invasion,
Indonesian codes were rendered as readable,
as Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
To Suharto’s delight,
the U.S gave the green light
for Indonesian forces to shoot, bomb
and napalm their way through
a third of the East Timorese population.

Blood for fuel, a generation of genocide,
blood for fuel, freedom and hell collide.

Successive Australian governments knew the story
like a pimp knows his way around a brothel.
They felt stealing Timor Gap oil
was more worth their toil
than aiding our south east Asian little brother.
East Timor was declared too poor for independence.
That’s as ironic as a Pol Pot memorial peace prize,
as absurd as Trump claiming the Pulitzer Prize.
It’s a story as nauseating
as snorting a gram of uranium.

Blood for fuel, a generation of genocide,
blood for fuel, freedom and hell collide.

 

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