Morality's
a moveable bouquet,
there
sometimes really is no black and white ‒
in
order to get closer to the light
we
have to take a few steps into grey.
And
sermonising often goes astray
as
drunken preachers thunder from the heights ‒
mistaking
justice for displays of might,
legality
for true égalité.
But
murdering for headlines is plain wrong,
politicos
on pills are just a joke,
as
we draw closer to the final song
of
sickness at the heart of Buckley Oak.
Let's
hope that someone, somewhere, finds a cure
before
we bid our twisted town adieu...
RJT
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