Something Seems Amiss
Something Seems Amiss
They say there is no money tree
Yet print the notes with whimsy
They say they do not hate the poor,
Their story seems quite flimsy,
Tax folk to an inch of life
then flog their hides once more,
Break their spirits, grind their hearts,
Send repos to their door,
‘Cut the taxes for the rich,
We need them to invest’,
‘In education? Public health?’
‘No, in what they do the best’,
Lining their own pockets for
The least amount of work,
Claiming their importance
With a sanctimonious smirk,
‘Privatise the whole damn lot,
So that way we’ll succeed’,
Greenwashed smiles of corporate wiles to mask rapacious greed,
Blame is always cast down to an individual’s lot,
‘You didn’t sort your glass from cans and now it’s getting hot’,
‘Wrap up warm this Winter time to cut your heating cost’,
Mismanaged into poverty, the billions that are lost
In loopholes, funds and tax exemptions,
Terms writ out below,
If you’re posh and got the dosh,
It’s front seats at the show,
Feigning interest to win votes
‘Be sure to tick our box,
We’ll scrape your bankrupt bloodied corpse
From off of those Black Rocks’.
Tom Edwards