To rise above the shoulders of others,
To see the things they can’t,
Pointing out the errors of law,
Taking a stand when falling down,
Accused of sins and crossing lines,
Anarchic behaviour built on honest minds,
Crushed by labels – a society wrapped in vines.

Hold a gun to my head if it makes you feel strong,
To boost your machismo,
Forget right and wrong

Hold a gun to my head if it makes you feel tough,
If it puts your chin high,
For I’ve had enough.

Hold a gun to my head if it makes you feel proud,
To see your ambition,
Swallowed by the crowd.

Take the words that, like venom, sting my ears,
Discard the taunts you use to hold me back,
Leave behind the poison that cripples me with fear,
I now find it hard to paint over the cracks,
Now you should just put a knife to my spine,
Dig it deep and paralyse, use my blood to disguise the shine.

Every week a different lover,
A change of clothes and back under the covers,
“****”
“*****”
All these names and more,
Hurled, like knives, at my back throughout the town,
All because I refuse to be tied down.

Alone in a cottage a family are trembling,
Shaking and vacillating in fear,
They hear the heavy footsteps marching,
And the gunshots ring in their ears,
They peer through the curtains to view,
The hooded white robes setting their stomachs churning,
And the fires of hell flicker even closer,
How fearsome it is when the crosses are burning.

Puffed up feathers,
Touring the planet like a Satanic God,
A peacock with an entourage,
Spitting, spouting, spreading your words,
Your verbal diseases,
“Burn them; Blame them, Better than them”.

Such ignorance,
Such hate,
And yet you call yourselves supreme.

Rows and queues of people,
Lines snaking around the church,
Slime and sin left inside,
Forgiven.

Heaps and mounds of decay,
Clumps rotting around the world,
Filth and foes left behind,
Misgovern.

Rows and queues of sinners,
Lines oozing around the church,
Healed and hurt left inside,
Forgiven.