They laughed at you,

your accent, your hair, your skin…

your knowledge of nothing

that they believed in.

 

Your best friend, a Jew

then Vikram the Sikh,

the Haggis, the Kosher,

the words you couldn’t speak.

 

Your smile now victorious,

when you pass by the School,

the Temples, the Shop’s,

the Cruel Swimming Pool.

 

The Church your dad built

they burned and defaced,

that they pissed on and cursed,

their own culture disgraced.

 

Now money buys friendship

no matter your creed,

if you’re off the front line

and signed up to the greed.

 

The roots are returning

they’re breaking old ground,

the torches are burning

new enemies found.

 

It’s those who have not,

“A Vermin complete”

the ones now forgot

down there on the Street…

 

who’ll rise up one morning

too full from their hate,

who’ll kill without warning

who’ll tear down the gates…

 

whose colours will blend

whose stories converge,

from that bitter end

new worlds will emerge.

 

Yet it’s all an illusion

there is nothing new,

we kill for amusement

and something to do.