There’s a lot o’ good people in the wasteland
Amongst the bastards on their lofty thrones.
Behind the screens we sit, an’ form a band
An’ dare ’em all ta break our thinnin’ bones.
I’ll ne’er see ye, not eye to eye, but read
The tappin’s on yer desk at witchin’ hours
An’ mark the words of anguish an’ of need
Ta find some form o’ touch that topples towers.
Exit the dungeon. Matters nah the likes
An’ loves forced at this time o’ the morn.
Support for fightin’ ghosts, or rousin’ strikes
Ta voice the discontent that feeds the scorn.
They’s out there, in the wasteland, them good folk –
Don’t shrivel back an’ silent shrink away.
Above the turret poke, an’ drop yer cloak,
Eyes open, smilin’ – join our happy play…