Suffolk Simpletons

I never asked to join a society that only respected, ‘Bright people’, oh, and by the way, that’s what they called them back in those days, ‘bright or thick’.
During the 1950’s they flogged you if you were thick, they said you were ‘lazy, work shy!’

In the days when a Prime Minister said, ‘You’ve never had it so good,’ the pervert and his idol walked in marble halls, where blood dripped to the floor from legs cut deep by rods of discipline.

Priests and do-gooders tell the victims to forgive the multitudinous murders of young minds, minds that would never conceive of beauty or trust.

And in those marble halls, silence still screams, where young weeping has no echo.
All this built on the altar of capitalisms, “Having to be someone,” that sacrifices the ugly uneducated on that altar, to a mashing press and furnace, and laughs at the game of justice.

Something beyond, godless indifference lingers on. If ghosts have tears, then somewhere, in the eternal mind, dark oceans a million miles deep await His will.

The Suffolk Simpletons walk into a cruel sunset, the Suffolk winds howl their requiem, a bell tolls somewhere between Heaven and Hell, and an undecided coastline is traced through the mists.

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