The very direct reference of the title was taken from seeing the bluebells rise from the soil in the parks and gardens of the city where I live. They exist unbidden, unwanted and eventually are cut down, but still each year they manage their triumph against the ever growing might of 21st century urbanity. Industrialisation the world over has catalysed the movement of humanity from its natural surroundings and into the urban environment that it has created for itself.

Though this habitat offers many new and exciting opportunities to the average person, it also brings with it higher rates of crime, disease, poverty, distrust and a lack of community. Pollution fills our lungs while thieves steal from our pockets both physically and in the form of our governors who take taxes to squander on grand designs and projects while our streets lie filthy. I am not calling for a return to a romanticised feudal past. I just think everyone should be asked to stop and appreciate our surroundings rather than constantly trample them underfoot or covering them in concrete.

More than anything this new environment infects our mindset, corrupting us to our core. Whether we as individuals are strong enough to stand up and realise that, is a question where the majority of the populace are found wanting. How many people no longer care about the sunrise or sunset, and how many people are dominated by this artificial existence that we have created for ourselves.

Lyrics

Away from our decaying urban cores
Exists the luscious meadows of Albion
(And) Though violated by the error of our creation
They’ll triumph when we are but dust

Pride wells within as our ancestry reclaimed
Far too long have we toiled and striven within the fogs
The heady urban mists that consume, man and soul

Spirit manipulated beyond conception
The self transformed to a hollow
Sorrow and emptiness breeds within
Yet still (shackled) I search for my own worth.

Our debris feeds the rats while the trees are butchered for progression.

Dying roots fester beneath the asphalt
Dead veins to a now meaningless cause
And yet we decry our decay
When evidence is but plain to the eye
We piss away youth, and then await death
The uncomprehended futility of this hollow game

Humanity’s perverted relationship with the earth
has brought to us what we desire

How long must I dwell in this steel and concrete tomb
simply waiting to be reborn?

Awake once more the stench of the city hangs in the air
Cloying and inescapable I choke and as I stand on stolen earth
I weep at the first bluebell of spring