Is it the referent mud of yesteryear
That cranks the conformist mantle on
To a higher kindled luminescence
That accentuates only wrong
And humbles solid effort with
A harness that is an arid tongue

To hell with phoenix-eyed rebellions
'Parrot' arrays in the street
Sectioned deals in gadgetry
Stuck limpet-like to trees
It's you I'm for, I do no wrong
Yet corruption's a cyclical 'game'....