Antigen

He knocked at the door

Shouting ‘let me in!’

Tempting us to go out

With his whisky and gin

He hid around corners

Under tables and chairs

Trying his best

To catch us unawares

He was sitting on benches

Where others had sat

He was on garden fences

Where we’d stop for a chat

He was hanging around

Tesco trolly parks

He was all over door han...

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Grave

I am the scythe that cuts through old and young

In cornfields where the idle crows watch on

As scarecrows flap their arms in summer sun

And wonder where the greedy birds have gone

The weeds grow now where once the sharp blade fell

Stealing from us all that we once held dear

There are no devils in this weeping hell

Only children transformed through pain and fear

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