On The Streets Of Britain

I don’t understand what I’m seeing,
the good man dies screaming
on the streets of Britain 
where we use to ride our bikes
playing hide & seek 
until the tall streetlights 
would suddenly flicker on
then we’d all be gone,
to rise again the next morning
summer holidays were never boring,
climbing trees and building forts,

my home town has its head in a noose,
my country is beaten and bruised, 
the uncivilised are on the rise,
stabbing me and violating you, 
don’t fucking tell me
you voted for this mess,
these ‘snake-oil’ politicians
who keep the cards close to their chest,
telling us what we want to hear, 
using their engineered fear 
to push through corrupt agendas,
the media obscuring the main offenders, 
money talks and bullshit walks
in the house of commons
and the house of lords, 
here they come scurrying in hordes
to sanction the poor and defenseless,
as they chomp on their slice of the pie
whilst they fiddle bogus expenses 
don’t fucking tell me
you voted for this mess,
these ‘snake-oil’ politicians
who keep the cards close to their chest,
I can’t help but be impressed 
as they address the oppressed 
with another foregone conclusion, 
creating the illusion
that we’re not a dictatorship
dressed up as a democracy