From the Dumb Majority

By Malcolm James Pugh
Posted Saturday, January 1, 2005

Gifted others will tell the nation, And annotate the slippery specifics, Of the lying, deceit and fabrication, Half hidden in statistical hieroglyphics, The stark fact is that here instead Of it being hard to find the faults, They are incessantly raising their heads, Those not tucked away in time vaults, No, it is not purely and simply lies, Or the incompetence that has occurred, It is more the assumption we are dumb, And simple, too brainless for words,

We will tell them some glib fairy tale, That would not even fool a troll, And dress it all up, have it regale, Like some burlesque talking doll, And they will swallow it all in, For they are gullible and easy led, They will surely quickly fall in, And take the bait that we have fed, And so it eventually came to pass, That they deemed us so enthralled, So overcome by their Quatermass, That they could tell us anything at all.

But now surprise, we hear your lies, But now shock, we see your face, We can feel the deceit materialise, And smell the policies put in place, And the odour is unpleasant, The sight is quite grotesque, They are ruining the present, Making the future Kafkaesque, For lo, we see, we hear, we smell, We touch, and yes we taste, But amazingly we think as well, And perceive we believed in haste, We trusted those who should be truthful, Accepted their promises and explanations, Gave benefit of doubt when they were youthful, And forgave their strange aberrations,

Now we find this trust misplaced, What we believed in was a sham, Not honourable but two faced, Not a planned future but a scam, Who is looking more stupid now, That the dominoes have started, We will soon show them how, Their lessons have been imparted, For we are not devoid of intellect, We just wanted to believe their schemes, We wanted to trust those we elect, Wanted to share in their dreams, We are not imbeciles to be fed spin, When buried bodies rematerialise, We all know when we see sins, We all know when we hear lies, We all know that waste is waste, Know borrowing has a payback day, Know now that lying bare faced, Is the theme of His third way, Know being paid for canal watching, Whilst manufacturing out sources and dies, Is just another means of botching, Another affront to our eyes, We all know credit at the core, Is a sure way to debt and sorrow, Yet we applaud a chancellor, Who is over hocked to tomorrow, Who under borrows year on year, And fills the hole with more loans, Come next year he will have no fear, But we will lose our homes, For funding his economy on tick, In a headlong lemming surge, He is counting on this trick, He is feeding on this urge, When we come to pay this back, Will he be there to lend a hand, Or will he be borrowing in the outback, Whilst we struggle on in our own land.

We have waited long in patience, Hoping against hope they are cool, But it has turned to pure impatience, When they treat us as if fools, And take our seeming calm compliance, As if a tacit, if dumb, approval, When it is a menacing angry quiet, Merely awaiting their removal.

It is criminal to deliberately lie, To those who trusted you their future, To take away their blue skies, To leave a wound without a suture, To paint a glorious valhalla sunset, After an epic adventure so exciting, To promise that we will all get, Whatever we would take delight in, To prey even on our very dreams, And whisper they can be fulfilled, Telling us to trust in what it seems, To partake in what is billed, And weave a talismanic illusion, Wrapped in candy floss by elves, Which has now slipped into confusion, As we slowly realised ourselves, That the reality is as it always was, But while we were in there dreaming, He was trying to make Himself a God, He was lying and He was scheming, Thankfully now we are awakening, Whilst He is into disintegration, We will have to try to rebuild, What He has left us of our nation, The cruelty is in the fostering, Of a future in a golden land, He has ruined via his posturing, He has trampled on our plans He had promised us Houdini like, A miraculous escape from strife, But after the great illusionist, Life here is still life.

Ex systems programmer, living in the Midlands.

About the Author
None