Opulence – Christmas
Opulence, indulgence and gluttony galore
What makes one such a despicable whore?
Feelings of guilt, betrayal from yore
Have your heard Oliver asking for please, some more?
What of those who cannot even fathom
A tuppence for a toy, like a congealed Gotham
The city is black and bleeding its sin
In the tinkling bells and coins in a tin
What of sharing, what of compassion
What of things which were not about fashion
What of the babe, born in hay
An excuse for a God or is that just hear say?
Oh for a moment of realistic respite
Those living in such squalor cannot breathe or fight
Stollen or Breudher, cake or log,
Captured, gulped, swallowed via eyes of man & vlog
Oh Lord on high, the one who lives in the sky
Where is your cross, your son and the angels who fly
Have they not given us enough to understand
That Christmas was never about those who show their hand
