Some of the older readers of this blog may remember Glasgow's Culture City.
Culture City.
In this gaudy painted bomb site
where passions crawl in chains,
dreams in tatters lie,
truth, a curfew, as victim claims;
justice fallen, in the rubble lies.
Still they play, those butterfly people
megalomaniacs, weavers of mirage.
The hungry to themselves cry out,
poverty in the shadows weeps,
garnished with pride, greed grows stout;
everywhere,selfishness like ivy creeps.
Still they play, those butterfly people
avaricious weavers of mirage.
Let men of words crash uselessly
against your mutual wall of rage,
don't let gifts of tinsel tame your anger,
let justice set the stage.
Bring down those butterfly people,
expose the bleeding city behind the mirage.
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