There are men in grey suits who infest sand-built towers,
Where they sit and they spit out their venom for hours,
Making judgements and plans which they say we must follow,
Leaving them to get fat, in the shit that they wallow.
The Bishops and Priests, and their dumb acolytes,
Spew out sermons, and edicts, and meaningless rites,
Whilst abusing the young that are left in their care,
They preach God's holy goodness, in which we may share.
There are Judges, who sit, every day, upon high,
Peering down on the wicked they're placed there to try,
With their wigs and their gowns, and their sashes of red,
They hide rent-boys, and call-girls, at home in their bed.
Politicians keep faces, at home, in a chest,
Where they change them at leisure, to what suits them best,
Their rhetoric mixes both half-truths, and lies,
With their aura of rectitude, just a disguise.
So, if you're in a tunnel, and can't see a light,
Don't depend on these vendors, of goodness and right,
They'll just take all you offer and then disappear,
Leaving you in the tunnel, and them in the clear!!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
