Do the Fekkin Maths God

 

    I spent over two thousand days as soldier,

Two thousand days and nights

And then more,

I fucked up though,

Gave my tears to a woman

Who only wanted to fight,

     But she had grabbed my

Heart and stole my loins,

One night she came and rubbed

The deed in my face,

One night I’ll never forget

I committed the act or arson,

But that was back in ninety-three,

Still, you changed the rules to make

Sure the conviction never gets spent,

     A conviction only because of

My own admission to the police,

Now old man,

You scorn me and make sure

I gain no reprieve from guilt,

But it just doesn’t equate,

As from early infancy

You placed within my life

Abuse that goes unaccounted for

But you’re quick to call me arsonist

For one act of brokenness

You’ll never understand,

     Over two thousand days as soldier,

Over two thousand nights

From barrack room to camp-cot

In war torn countries

You never gave me time for,

And you changed the rules

To suit your shallow views –

Tried on several occasions to

Commit me so I lose my liberty,

     Well, you take it ole man,

Take it up the arse and swallow

Humble pride like I have - all my

Grudged life,

     Then wonder why

I Gob off so much when

It’s obvious the rules

Are there to suit your own

Inadequate needs.

 

This world,

So corrupted corrupts

The most innocent of lives,

Trains the youth to pull

The trigger at each other

For the avarice of power,

     And when they shout back,

You like to think you’re better,

When in essence,

You’re fekkin dead to me!

 

Michael J Waite. For as long as the conviction remains!