Between the truthful lie
And the lieful truth
There is a forest of factual fancies
Things are never what they seem
There is so much smoke here
There must be fire somewhere
The shadow is hardly too far
From the vicinity of its substance
The stories they tell
Are unworthy of belief
When a politician throws open his mouth
Watch out for a flood of masticated truths
The harder we work
The poorer we are made to be
The labourer roasts in the midday sun
The manager swings in a shaded hammock
Homeless in Babylon
The sky is the only roof above our heads
The Vagrancy Law was rolled into being
To sweep us into the garbage bin
Between street and prison
A perilously short distance
The new plantation in the Land of the Free
Is decorated with razor fence and armoured guards