See the rich nobs at the charity ‘do’
They only go ‘cos they want to be cool
Paying all that money for a charity affair
Only poor people know how to share
Titles, Lords and Ladies
M.B.E.s and O.B.E.s
Is the magazine for the sick
Or does it help the helpers care?
Can you go through your life
With a blanket on your head?
Doped up you’re better off dead
Stops the woven paths
Blocks the healing process
When will it stop?
Why do I feel a stranger
In this place where I was when young
All the familiar faces
And all the lovely places
Have worn away like plastic veneer
Bleached by the sun.