A lifetime lived in Babylon,

what’s left of this thing called ‘Ron’?

I walk around and wonder why

they’ve kept me here, not let me die.

I know that somehow I don’t fit

as I wallow in this world of shit;

with faecal matter past my nose

I wonder now from whence it flows.

“The government” I oft am told

lest that’s the bullshit I am sold

but deep inside I think it’s me;

if I ignore the bullshit am I free?