• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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Generation Rent

Oh what an unholy mess.
The roof on my world has fallen in.
Without warning and I am left
with the desolate husk of this flat.

Where did it all go wrong?

I am surrounded by debris and rubbish.
The window panes mirror my pain.
The interior trashed, tarnished and torn.

I made my money honestly within the
draconian taxes inflicted on the rich.
Salted away where the sun does shine
beamingly on the plutocrats of this world.

This flat is my security against Armageddon.
When the people rise up and assault
my privilege – my inherent right to exist.

They say I am driving them out
with excessive rents from their City.

They are lucky that I am allowing
their small existence in my City.

I will sit in this chair draped in its
cloth of gold and listen to the chants.


And shut my ears to their cries of revolution.