|
|
Falling into the lair
Of the spiders web
Believing the spiel
Costing us thousands, we dread.
Because of some fat commission.
Struggling now
To make ends’ meet,
It’ll take us years
To get back on our feet
Who the hell gave you permission?
I was told it was a tiny repair;
The Clutch arm,
Costing thirty odd pounds~
Now that wouldn’t do any harm.
But all you wanted from me was to steal.
And now, it’s on the ramp
So high.
You’ve started some other work~
No NO! I cry!
I have no other means for your high bill.
With your polished persuasion
You make me sign
On a tailor~made
Dotted line
Geared for mugs like me.
(You didn’t mention the small print)
Now I pull out my hair
In utter despair
It’s simply not fair.
But as long as you get your fee.
I’m in a tight spot
You’ve got me floored,
Now I’m mortified
To find I’m not insured.
And yet you happily took cash hard earned
It’s written in invisible ink
I should have known better than to kick up a stink,
But now I know I’ve been mislead
The thoughts of hopelessness run through my head.
My fingers’ now are burnt.
The world seems to be
So money orientated,
Don’t trust a soul now,
Don’t want to get acquainted.
You might stab me in the back.
I won’t meet your eye
And give you a wide birth.
As long as you’re O.K. Jack.
Linda Lawrence
13th April 2005