They sit laughing in halls of shamed stone,
In a lust for power, stroking bone.
Feeding on the innocent, far right good to blame,
cloaking their hunger, with honours to name.
Trample their own, rake in the gain,
while the working class are buried in pain.
Their loathing lands with their word, their law.
We must challenge what we heard and saw.
The people toil - the governors command,
Inside his velvet glove - an iron hand.
Power built on a foreign fractured trust,
with fear, with loathing, with a perverted lust.
This our kingdom, built on hallowed ground,
Unite The Kingdom, streets must pound.
For every tower raised by greed,
Shall one fine day - bow to truth indeed.
Smith Shine Poetry 