Heaven sent on the wings of the wind
This whole world is yet to be binned
Crawling down the endless street
To a place where the bones will meet
Not a victim or a disease
Just a pit within which stirs brutality
Polarised by the weave of the gone
A moment in time which was wrong
Hating all that came to be
Like a fracture in the come in see
But this land is not our own
We are just rot stuck to the bone
Clinging on for the life of the land
Is there a problem for which we stand?
The answers yes but still we rise
Refusing to bring forth the prize
Stitching shut all the eyes
All so we can continue all our dark lies
Vertical with a malice so grand
Writhing from the inside of rebrand
Screaming to the limitless void
All the time pretending to be coy
When what is this is not that
Twisting history and established fact
Simon A Jackson - Writer 