Within the death of innocent hues

we see others take up residence

in bum polished pews,

finding eternal salvation

for the price of a few pence.

 

Lead us not in to damnation,

wringing hands and buggered beasts

cries the nation,

as they sit in starved contemplation

and face the days alone.

 

Lied to from every side,

eating the poor, gorging the rich,

pride

comes before a fall, delivered with wit,

who’s to say Humanity isn’t a bitch.

 

The iron bell rings at this, our sunset hour

no mourning for our passing

we don’t deserve such power,

ignorant and futile we have become

as we polish the pews with our sorrow-filled bums.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018