Armies of beggars, selling
windows and souls,
With no cap in hand, or lowly begging bowls,
The destroyers of peace, and driving us mad,
When gone, soon replaced, so leaving us sad.
Offering excuses like, "I'm only doin' my job",
Producers of nothing but smooth cunning to rob.
Even killers in uniform reason this way,
'I do it for my country', or so they say.
With consciences seared, like a hardened sore,
In every community, the greatest bore.
But these pests insisting, "I'm only doin' my job",
Rewarded with Judgement with the rest of their mob.
Talking folk into debt when
they call on the poor,
Some of them begging at the government's door.
But consider, you beggar, of those you harass,
Your family are plagued by your comrades