The Root of Necessary Evil

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The Root of Necessary Evil

Whenever someone is keen to stress
That money can’t buy happiness,
Just take a look at their mode of dress:
Are they all stained and dishevelled and reeking,
Threadbare of t-shirt and rumpled of slacks,
And sporting the Houses of Primark and T K Maxx ?
Or are they rather more sharp and bespoke in their speaking,
Voices cracked, but never broke.

The fact is that we all of us can sleep a little better
When we never have to fret about just where we’re gonna sleep,
Or we have to listen-out at ev’ry daybreak for that letter
That we need to hide away before our kids can catch a peep,
Or pretending that we cannot hear the scritching of the mice,
Or the buzzing of mosquiots, or the growing of the mould,
Or the dripping from the ceiling that we’ve told the landlord twice,
Or the asthma of our children, or their shivers in the cold,
Or the mischief of the local youths that’s more than just a lark,
Or another bloody car alarm, or couple’s blazing row,
Or the rumours of a stalker whose been seen about the park,
Or the…wasn’t that a gunshot that I dreamt I heard just now ?
Or just dreading ev’ry time when there is someone comes a-knocking
That it’s possibly the bailiffs or the summons to the court.
Or perhaps it’s just the thought that we no longer find this shocking,
Or that were the worst to happen, then we’ve next-to-no support.

I suppose they’re right, down deep,
That money and greed can lead to excess,
And it sometimes becomes a trap, I guess.
But enough for a good night’s sleep ?
I’d call that happiness.

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