Gravy In The Cauldron

Like a dog with a bone by the river,
all or nothing; a drunk man's liver.
Relinquishing what makes us human;
strong, pungent, pulverised cumin.

But the old lady at Morrisons had a good day,
hopes to have one again tomorrow, unlike the
economists on the top floor of The Shard,
painfully pleading for more money to borrow.

Too ugly to prostitute, too honest to steal.
Begs for a pound, can't even afford a meal.
But as long as we have a roast dinner in the oven,
with gravy in the cauldron, and our own coven,

For as long as it doesn't directly affect us,
we're as pathetic as the weakest bully
on the school bus.