These are Neural times, not days of grace
We are all now living – on the Edge of Space,
Look at the tote, trading red hot tips
Even the peacemakers, have money on the Crypts;
See pensioners threaten, with their Heckler & Koch
And develop a penchant for expensive nosh,
A treacherous world for both daughter and son
Experimenting with rehabilitation is a loaded gun.
The technocrats smile yet bears furious claws
Guaranteed pandemonium, behind closed doors,
So inflict self-denial like the repentance of Lent
It’s never a good time, for the innocent.
Can’t clean up the mess with politic tissues
Those left in charge – inspire firearm issues;
Only ever safe from conception to abortion
What a cunning escape from commercial extortion.
With delinquency incumbent, count the votes sold
These roots called society, more precious than gold,
The righteous and criminal, so much the same
End of government sees – its morality to blame.
No more cushy rides see the closing facade
Are the children inspired, for a life that hard?
The proletariat lost in a world wind of change
A viscous and completive, state of rearrange.
Sailing close to conflict, a frighten disposition
The rules of engagement make an awkward imposition;
A million in a million, well that’s is truly kind
Last genuine human so very hard to find.
A cruel simple solution is the drudgery of the gun
Causes pain and anguish, when life should be fun,
When the children of man are given enough rope
To recognise futility in the abstinence of hope.
