Constables hay wain crossed
the Stour, wooden wheels creaking,
countryside colours clouded,
trees shrouded Flatford Mill.

Lowry's people were going to work,
guarded by furious chimneys,
darkness conductors, limbs aching.
Beneath the plumes short lives streamed,
inhabiting a rent collector's dreams.

Thin models for humanity
suffered Salford's acid rain
from satanic wage slave mills.

Milk for meat
Hype for hope
Lies for love
Ashes for beauty
And yet we all said "amen"
Puppet master
Thy humble puppets, enthralled
...and we have anointed you;
To tell us ...
  What we want to hear
  What we want to read
   What we want to watch

You have execute thy duties;
Tickling our ears to perfection,
With feathers, dipped in ******
Our souls; numbed  
our hearts; tangled in lies.

The parade
The confetti
The Loyalist
An ovation;
To he who sits
lonely, on his throne;
Feeding our emotions,
In your own emptiness.
Sensationalism
Emotional
Temporarily
Seasonal
Hypnotized
Roller coaster ride...
We are dead, like the last generation.

I’ve seen hell- and it’s white, snow white.