Felons steal what nature feels
the leaves reverse
for thirst or fear
original people
again from their gods
again from the land
taken to their fate
punished by greed and hate
their ancestors all enslaved
that the lucky land
might be saved
Not just in valleys
Nor just on the beach
Outback and out of fashion
But not out of reach
Game for tests or mere mammon
their nature well preserved
(aren’t their deaths well deserved?)
There millennia life
was worshipped
t h e i r land girt by sea
Then came the prison wardens,
destroying what was free.
And whence the pompous felon dwells, with fragrant prose
us all would bring,
insincere songs
that pompous ring.
For whom he asks
his noble friends
does all that noise,
those feigned amends
bring more
than Tyburn’s heads
can tell
along the road
to electronic hell.
