I wonder why the news is yours?
It's always introduced that way.
Good news never happens.
It's always black and never white.
With talk of bombers and shoppers.
Men with choppers who'll see you in bed.
Dentures that is if you think I'm dark.
Politicians in big wigs that slip to one side.
The news belongs to the broadcaster.
Not mine or yours.
Opening doors.
Bad news soars.
Happy Christmas lads and lasses.
(c)LIVVI