Internal Exile

An idle glance absorbs the terror

The weight of proof brings little pleasure

The trick's the thing, a cereal measure

Mao sifts the shit from trash to treasure

Marching! Marching!

Primed and armed, a loose projectile

Forced into internal exile

In Apple light, the laptop lackeys

Software pedlars rake the readies

Backstab sermons sitting pretty

Bankrupt, cynics leave the city

Marching! Marching

His cupboard bare; his vision hardwired

Roving tamer; empty larder

Hearts of gold; no pot to piss in

Join the queue of future has-beens

A worker's thirst to be at leisure

Dissatisfied without measure