I have followed the death columns

and know which devotees are left

to be buried and downtrodden

in hope and faith up to their necks.

The consummate professional

would not betray your confidence;

the babbling confessional

cannot be used as evidence.

You might consider changing your address –

they’re giving me the lie detector test.  

 

All you middle-aged neurotics

dripping patchouli and batik,

drawing beelines for my office

to scratch the surface once a week

and display your Rorschach patterns

of safety pins and cigarettes,

so I’d say why these things happened

and that it’s all a consequence…..

but it was up to you what came off next –

they’re giving me the lie detector test.

 

Your swings of bipolarity

left me stiff and swivel-necked;

I’m disinclined to charity

now your manoeuvres have been checked

and you don’t have the energy

to turn me off the TV set.

Your burdens weigh so heavily

upon the poor old NHS  

and now it’s time to get them off its chest –

they’re giving me the lie detector test.