by Nick Gisburne
A misery of mutilated dreams
Where sickness swells and blisters in the light
Imprisons, in a spiral of their screams
The slaves of brutal industry and might
Immobilised with burning, bitter wax
To seal the surge of suffering within
From sores, inside, a thousand crooked cracks
Appear upon the fire-infected skin
A virus, crudely hammered through the heart
Consumes what little sanity remains
As every straining sinew pulls apart
Sophisticated systems seed the brains
The nightmare disengages and recedes
It leaves the placid poor the nation needs
