Freedom aka Benthams dream

Cities of gold now gone so cold

Full of creatures with slime in their souls

For gods are now the contents of your wallet

The eternal Jester sings a leprous sonnet

Watched by Orwell’s eyes at every corner

And freedom is a word that is whispered by mourners

In a Panopticon world of Bentham’s dream

Our lives are sutured like a surgical seam

In the dark we cry for life’s loves lost

Freedom we cry whatever the cost

And TPOB say but you are free

And laugh and say but only if we agree.