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...