Teat's hill tots.
Children stalk the State's estates
With the benefit schemes and the stillborn dreams and
The pregnant teens by the eight-till-late.
Tell me, how's it going to end? Beseech the Lord his strength to lend?
'Cos this is going on right now, it's in the city streets and how
Have we got so permissive that we plain refuse to care?
Or are we so deluded that we go on unaware?
Children stalk the State's estates.
Children spend the week off sick
With the headlouse scratch and the scabies patch and
The doorlatch up for the tin foil fix.
Spare room used by prostitute who'll fuck a truckload for a toot.
Social worker twenty-one and lives out rural with her mum;
Never touched the common man or had a babe or stole a meal
Or understood that life is pain and Harry Potter isn't real.
Children spend the week off sick.
Children live in lino rooms
With the bulbs unshaded and the units jaded and
The space invaded by the burning spoon.
Underweight, conceived on smack and Valium and Scrumpy Jack.
Parents on the heroin deceive and thieve to push it in;
Never take their babies out or cut their nails or clean their teeth
Or sing them into bed at night or tuck them into laundered sheets.
Children die in lino rooms.
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