I resent the stance you have taken.
I feel utterly forsaken,
For all we have is stances,
Our carefully choreographed dances,
With which, round truth, we lightly trip,
Hoping never to stumble or slip,
“Revealing for all of the others to see”,
Just why it is they can’t trust you or me.
We pretend to resent the imperial past,
But you know we must never be honest, at last,
And admit that its over for good,
For how can our virtue be understood,
If it’s known that we’re powerless, alone?
Who can possibly know of our rage,
If we do not posture upon the ‘world’ stage?
From our offices at the council, in Burnley or Oldham or Colne.
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