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The Mob What makes them a castless mob of human flesh Wandering where others would fear to tread? Is it their inability to conform Or their lack of interest in a human society That is continually being degraded by human consumption?
Murderously they run down Riverside Road,# Unaware and not caring about the heartbreak That they instill with every prolonged, agonising step of their heavy, unmanageable boots That readily find their mark on the back of a helpless passer-by.
Their appearance is black and foreboding, Reminding one of the prisoners Who refuse to conform to the society That still, unwilling as it might seem, Cares for them.
Their numbers are immense, but their ideas small, To do harm in their vocation, To instill a fear amongst those people Who waste their life away Fighting to conform with the system But knowing that theirs is a fight that must be won If the world is not to turn into A biting core of unpleasantness.
The crowds frightened by the threat of impending disaster Move swiftly to the opposite side of the road Realising that these demons of unpleasantness Will soon strike.
The battle will soon begin, As they pit their limited wits against the police Whose duty is to be kind to the mob, To be kind in suffering, but somehow to treat Them as human beings.
They wander down the road Not realising the harm they do To themselves and others.
But someday their lives will turn full circle And they will realise what an uncontrollable nuisance they have been. But by then it will be too late for them, Their lives will be finished And they will take to their graves, their only comfort The fact that they have never done anything of value.
They will die alone Unwanted, unloved. |