What's the excuse this time?
"It was Godzilla!"
BPL Excuses
The air is thick, the sun is fierce, the summer heat sets in,
And once again, upon our isle, the dark routines begin.
The hum of power dies away, the ceiling fans grow still,
While frustration rises hotter than the air upon the hill.
From Grand Bahama down to Inagua, the chorus starts to rise,
As another dark night falls beneath the humid Bahama skies.
The Progressive Liberal Party stands behind the microphone,
To offer practiced speeches in a calm, practiced tone.
"It’s an aging generator," or "The fuel was bad this week,"
"It’s an unexpected surge," or "There's a sudden cable leak."
"The load was far too heavy," "The infrastructure’s old,"
"It’s legacy neglect from past administrations," we are told.
"Just give us time, a little patience, modern grids are on the way,"
While the people sit in darkness and watch another day decay.
We are sick and tired of speeches, of the suits and the spin,
Of the polished press conferences where the tall tales begin.
We don’t care about the contracts, or who signed what back when,
We care about the blackouts happening time and time again.
What will the next excuse be when the island goes pitch black?
Will it be a passing bird, or that the rain came off its track?
Will you blame the salt sea air, or claim the wind blew far too strong?
How many more excuses until you admit that this is wrong?
And once again, upon our isle, the dark routines begin.
The hum of power dies away, the ceiling fans grow still,
While frustration rises hotter than the air upon the hill.
From Grand Bahama down to Inagua, the chorus starts to rise,
As another dark night falls beneath the humid Bahama skies.
The Progressive Liberal Party stands behind the microphone,
To offer practiced speeches in a calm, practiced tone.
"It’s an aging generator," or "The fuel was bad this week,"
"It’s an unexpected surge," or "There's a sudden cable leak."
"The load was far too heavy," "The infrastructure’s old,"
"It’s legacy neglect from past administrations," we are told.
"Just give us time, a little patience, modern grids are on the way,"
While the people sit in darkness and watch another day decay.
We are sick and tired of speeches, of the suits and the spin,
Of the polished press conferences where the tall tales begin.
We don’t care about the contracts, or who signed what back when,
We care about the blackouts happening time and time again.
What will the next excuse be when the island goes pitch black?
Will it be a passing bird, or that the rain came off its track?
Will you blame the salt sea air, or claim the wind blew far too strong?
How many more excuses until you admit that this is wrong?
