11 May 2012
Cold, wet, tired... Running from the fire. Looking back he sees the red glow, And his soul is darkened by his woe. He has nothing left to live for now his children are gone.
He tries to tell himself it's just a dream, But his world has come apart at the seams. He cusses the government cuts, That made everyone go nuts. The rioters set alight his house and killed his wife with a gun.
The fire service were yet to arrive, Busy elsewhere, they had not the time, For they were too busy saving some rich cunts, To spare some time to save the life of his sons, That died in the blaze of the deprived, the indignant, the poor.
And the rich bastards sat on their arses. They couldn't care less. This county's a mess, But they don't care, Because they weren't there, When the murderers knocked at his door.
London's Burning • Opuss № I