(journalists)
flickin through your logic
of sunlit cemeteries
cockin an eyebrow
to your brainless entries
of prosperity and equality
in a world i cant believe in
(backward politics)
stickin to your rules
of upside down ideas
not sayin a word
on the big stage for fears
of being thrown in dirt
in the name of communism
(glamourised 'ideal world' outsiders looking in)
getting everything wrong
this side of the tracks
looking over the fence
like toff nosed meerkats
at what you cant comprehend
but dont want to end
(expensive fashion fads)
glamour in the unreachable
heights, of the educated
thrown on the high street
expensive to the underrated
personalities, that mingle in neighbourhoods
ignored by your trend
(JSA)
lost in tunnel vision
trying to find a way forwards
not seeing the whole picture
at the sides of the words
were always told
that keep us benefitting
(pessimism prevails)
no escape
from this concrete maze
for the big idea
running around our brains
sit back and relax with a joint and beer
and sit it out till our dying day
not poetry in the conventional sense but just general anger directed at the glamour puss journalists that dont know the half of it
i love writing about us hoy paloy vs the world 
