Trapped

In days of yore all we had was cruelty
When children worked to pay their keep
Sent up the chiminey with brush to sweep
For a scrooge at Hogmanay

We long for that Dickensian past
To gather round the roaring fire
And keep the ghosts of past alive
And carry on and joke and laugh

Be oblivious to the undermine
Our children massaged by the adverts hype
Coached to think that they have not
Groomed that plastic is just fine

And rebel and go on strike
not be Dodos like the parents are
not suck it up and go for par
 Who f**ked it all up and cant repair

The church, the school, your arm to twist
To find the time you'll never miss
The price tag that will make you hiss
What the S**t I cant afford all this

The soccer mom pulls out her hair
The dirty clothes that need repair
For who was groomed now lets be fair
The mirror reflects a disheveled stare