Lightness, a farce,
The weight, mirror
And through the looking-glass
With love tells a story
Without judgement ushers into
The root of the canker, the observatory
There we are, disarmed, revealed in this light
The finger alarms,
The prospect of a blight
The ruling class neglects again
Responsibility, over-indulged children
Drawn to cruel games, pointless pleasures.
Impulsive reflexes, a group of assassins
There we are disarmed, only our consciousness
Blinkered class paving the way to fascism
So graceful, alluring, masquerade
And below the veneer, wretchedness
This verity is not tenable
It makes one want to sleep
Makes me want to weep
The ghosts are coming home at night Devoid of conscientiousness
Stripped humaneness
Split fibre can never be happy
Disheveled, struggling humanity
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