Desperate times call for desperate measures;
Live destitute suffering my guilty pleasures.
Pleasures to mask the unspeakable fact
That the odds against us forever are stacked.
Victims of justice;
Great beacon it’s not,
For justice can only rot
When it’s traded and bought.
Crime now just another
Way to tax our poor brothers;
Scream out for your mothers –
Under fines you’ll be smothered.
Hardship breeds what hardship reaps,
And punishes poverty, children weep;
Weeping for a world where they’ll soon be crime –
The prisons are built, for the poor and benign.
Quotas to achieve;
Private prisons to fill –
No thought for us, just pass that bill;
Profit from imprisonment as hope you kill.
Crime now has targets;
Must catch more, try your hardest,
But when pressured to arrest,
Find those poor they detest.
Catastrophic conjunction of catasterous lords
And austerity measures stabbing wallets like swords;
We will fail to keep pace as they race at us, chase –
Let the riots commence as we embrace our disgrace.
Stand up and defend
What your masters will end;
Look them dead in their face
As to gallows you’re paced.
Stand tall, accused
Of a system abused;
A generation entombed,
By grand design doomed.