Crooked Chain

The oppressors oppressed,
The oppressed oppresses those
they can oppress,
so and so does the chain stretch
Stretching straight into faint distance.

The Peasant, Peasant indeed
Short changes the peasants in need
The peasant in need
Vents his frustration on his wife in need

The Civil slave,
Arrogant at his desk
Sits on a throne that is not there.
He torments the peasant and daily bread winner
‘Go, come back tomorrow’ he says.
‘My master isn’t on seat’
Just a beneficial handshake, if you  can understand.

Our Slavers,
Enslaved by the Owners of Westminster,
Who were once slave to their former captors
suppress all trace of hope.
With a promise of a better life on their lips,
Makes the masters of books act as though they read no books.
Forgetting their allergy at the dangle of salary.

The Combat boots boys
Who joy eludes
Would spare no moment flaunting their khaki boots
Ready to flog the derailed back into line;
Kill! And they would kill,
Die! And they would die,
Indeed, you’ve served well your father land.