Vain winds blow on through the pain
A waking nightmare for moral gain
The silent pulled from pillar to post,
But surely endurance holds the key?
Shallow badges squeeze my plight
Preening tourists line the sides
Damp in the ceiling
Mould spored and grey
Raking through the screed
Empty acts of false modesty
Do nothing but tease and trivialise
The disarming touch of bourgeois pity
Indulgent trumpet blowers
But I will drag the darkest into my everyday
To press for space beyond their means
Raking through the screed