Broken ‘pon the Duluth wheel I was, just a couple of years ago.
The smiling snitch with the liar’s itch defamed me don’t ya know.
A state paid feminist, duplicity’s hedonist, my family in her sights.
With remorseless cruelty, and viscious surety gunned ’em down with great delight.
Virgil Caine, not my real name, returned from Afghan’s plains.
For a new life, with my wife, met just weeks before entrained.
From Yorkshire Dales to Banks’ Ales upped and left familial ties.
A government job, domesticity slob, we built and multiplied.
Blood neath my feet, the nation’s peat, made sense to me a yore.
Freedom of speech, naysayers weak, fought and won for centurys fore.
A man’s home his castle, State couldn’t hassle, Equality under the law.
And grace assumed, manners groomed, the pen mightier than the maw.
Well I don’t mind tellin’ you, inquisitive fellow dude, things are not so now.
A knock on the door, a concern du jour, Social worker furrows her brow.
And at that point, responsibility joint, Leviathan follows it’s macabre script.
Lambs to the slaughter, crooked solictor bought for ya, staring at the pit..
