Oh fuck it all, I’ve had enough
Of all this dreadful, made up stuff
Love me, lust me, look away -
Write the headline of the day-

We all sup at the greedy trough
Where politicians scowl and growl -
Panting with displeasure -

While women dressed in black and grey
Mash their mouths with viscous lips
And snarl once more, into the fray,
High heels clicking with intent -
‘Let’s find the truth and make it bent!’

All these zombies and the living dead
Jerked alive by sex and cash!
This wee scandal - or maybe that -
Such a lot of quack-quack-quack,
‘He’s wrong, she’s wrong, I never did that!’

The squeal and screech is over-strident
The lies, the comedy of writhing
Sexual perversion, an intimate fondling
This business deal, an ‘ethical’ warning.

Truth is a malformed word it seems,
The cursed stuff of passing dreams,
A tattered remnant of a story,
The rawness of some death or scene

Broken by the morning.