They want to hear a broken a heart
A distant past
A sense of humour in a mirthless laugh
They want the pain and regret
The phlegm from my chest
Words spun from whisky and cigarettes
They want bitterness and sin
A guilty hand on her innocence
And a twisted love story to witness
They don’t want poverty
Or a fight against a corporate monopoly
They want to cry
But they don’t want to fight
They want to read
And hang on the words I write
They don’t want dying children
Shallow graves and ill-treatment
If I speak out and they’ll call it treason
They want peace and love
They need to hear it, eat it up
Believe and achieve in a perverted lust
But they don’t want to know it doesn’t exist.


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