They’re misunderstood little bastards;
Greying, balding; bleak.
Clumped together in miserable circles
They nod, caw and they bleat.
Sympathy is passing
As is their time in this eternal affair
Their undue selfish ignorance
Is far too much to bear.
Polluted and oil-slick
They warble and moan
‘Til they’re dizzy, raving and sick
Changeable and disdainful
A pride of roaring twits
They flit and bumble,
Cast downward eyes through ever-narrowing slits
Clay or otherwise
These cracking fools need waking and asserting
That the world they splatter plenty white
Is waking to their hurting.