as the money tide falls short of shore, to the little man for a banker’s whore;
and the funding hand, Sahara plain in this place gone mad, as I’m not to blame,
for squandered pound they fluttered free from their grubby fist for champagne she.
Unlaced her bodice beneath her blouse as the markets fell in their Nero house;
for the wife and child upon your street to husband find, then shotgun greet.
How quick their tragic blood runs lose for richest men to fatten goose,
as on the tables of misery's place, they follow own prayer when saving grace.
In sleep aloof they hear the cries of hungry souls that they despise.
A use is found for those by day, yet at night their candle is blown away
on mushroom cloud of hot air balloon that floats above to venture soon,
to all the places you've never seen and for you is all but a night time's dream.
And this is how it came to pass, that in envy green of a greener farce,
the note on which adorns a race became much more than the bearer’s face.
So now you’ll have to pucker up, and to your lips, their liposuction butt
will rest on chair of those below who cannot rise up in madness's show.
But now the doc has made me silly, says my way is a dallied dilly;
the powers that be can easy rest, as the words of the unhinged are unhinged at best.
Yet I find the way the world is fouled, has axis tipped and I’m mad endowed,
to look beyond the trappings laid by those who still think a flat earth stayed.
Nathan J.D.L. Rowark is a poet, novelist and founder of Horrified Press: http://horrifiedpress.wordpress.com. His credits include over sixty stories and poems published in various mediums, and three works listed in the British Library. He is about to release two anthologies written by other like-minded artists, one in February and the other in March. They are titled respectively, Tales of the Undead - Hell Whore, and Tales of the Undead - Suffer Eternal.