What fresh hell?

Helicopters threatening hope,

blades flashing, twirling,

the knaves are out.

New school is Old school is all,

but twisted, twisted.

And I have to raise my head

to blue skies

above bullshit,

heart above hypocrisy

This new regime that uses the same old machine

and the things we resisted

are now insisted clench-fisted,

blandly or blindly followed.

It breaks my hollowed heart

Fills me with anger

and despair.

Where do we go from here?

Who are ‘we’ at all anyway?

I’ll stick to the lonesome 'I'

The lyrical confession

in hope for a less bitter vision,

a better version of new.