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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
About the horrors of living outside and the parasitic nature of the rich.

Submitted: January 20, 2011

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Submitted: January 20, 2011



The lonely walk in terror
Out late in Paisley Street,
Afraid of all the reprobates
Winos, druggies, freaks.

The street folk of Footscray
Have learnt to live with fear,
Of winos, druggies, muggers
Starvation ever rears.

The down-trodden live in freight cars
Rusted out in sidings,
In packing crates and boxes
In fear and cold they’re hiding.

The forgotten sleep on benches
Deep in Footscray Park,
Away from sight and thought
Lost souls in the dark.

We say we’d like to help them
But we just don’t care enough,
So they starve and die of cold
Street folk living rough.

We’d really like to help the poor
But in truth we just don’t care,
We’d like to have compassion, but
Compassion is now so rare.

So let the poor help themselves
Because God helps though who do,
Why should the rich pay any tax
When the rich were born to rule!

To hell with largesse oblige
We’re not obliged to carry our weight,
So if the poor folk starve and die
We know that it’s just their fate!

They’re fated to die without our help
And so they’ll just have to die,
We’re obscenely rich as we mean to stay
So let the poor eat humble pie!

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts

© Copyright 2017 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.

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