The Shift From Pre-Awareness

When we dread our Monday mornings ’cause our bills are overdue,
And the coming of the postie it brings to us unwelcome news;
When the ringing of the telephone puts dread within our hearts;
When the quiet of the weekend stops, and ‘face the music’ starts –

We may see the system's broken for the most of us today,
As the style of life we're living far exceeds our means to pay;
And the pressure from without is met with pressure from within,
Now we're face-to-face with Monday when the reckoning begins.

Here in Canada, ‘economy’ is ‘shipping raw resource’ –
It's assumed we all are working – cash? It trickles down of course;
So the ads are geared to draw us on to spend tomorrow's dime,
And we live as though we're working, making money all the time.

It's a fantasy were living, (take each other's laundry in),
For in service, "value added" hides a larger social sin –
Sin like yesterday when colonies made paupers far away,
While our style of life exceeded what those paupers couldn't pay.

So economy goes underground, for people have to eat;
First the poor and then the middle class live life out on the street;
While the rich and smart among us who are making out just fine,
Think their lives are going splendidly and everything's sublime –

Then the Monday comes when telephone and posties stop their show,
And they join the growing numbers of the people in the know;
Then they know for sure their errors both together and alone,
And they face the dreaded music in community and home.

It is tough to stop our make-believe, admit that we've no cash,
That the system is not working, and for help we have to ask;
It's the same if we are prosperous, and live among the rich –
It is hard to say "We got us here" to others in the ditch.

Thus we move from pre-awareness when the Monday morning comes,
Into stage of full awareness when we've tallied up the sums;
There's relief when we stop living in a world of fantasy,
But there stages still before us we must pass before we're free.

When we've ‘tried it on to check its fit’, and find it fits just fine;
And our weasel-room evaporates – that we have crossed a line;
Then we shift along to ‘info-chase’, when finally we've seen,
That our Monday morning pickle shows our better days have been.

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