Black Mass

The poor live in  tall heaps called tower blocks
Wrapped in tin foil, roasted into dust
See the wild, the wolf, the crow the fox

And for their language or their colour they are mocked.
The government will house them if they must
The poor live in  tall heaps called tower blocks

,Man  is crueller  as he kills for kicks
Slays the gentle hind, her young nonplussed
Colder than the wolf, the crow the fox

An incandescent candle, Grenfell rocked
Gave free light and  heat in its great lust
The poor live in  tall heaps called tower blocks

Into a cruel cycle, they are locked
For hell itself gives them a roaring test
Crueller than the tiger,  crow  or fox

Excitement like the Roman  Games at last
The Greatness of Great Britain has been  lost
The poor live in  tall heaps called tower blocks
Then they leave their dust,  their teeth ;Mass Black