How is it that I can live
In such a notorious quarter for trouble,
And yet feel like I am inside
A buoyant and cushioned bubble?
Why is it that when returning home;
To the clean, rural air,
People feel inclined to abuse,
taunt,
beat
and tear?
This security blanket draped
Over this small seaside town,
Leads people to ignorance,
arrogance
and always looking down.
To tell them that there is more,
Will end in a smack or a punch.
I guess I have to accept these people do exist
When it comes down to the crunch.