You wanted something to talk about, you think you need a moderator her's a war:

www.web-designer.oneuk.com/mage....html

Divorced From Freedom
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This grimy Victorian red brick heap
Stands as mute witness
To the infinite frailties of men
Transfigured into numbers
And also to their strengths
Rearranged in a hierarchal
Array of crimes
We scuttle like termites in a mound
Counting our pounds and days spent
In this panoptic layer cake
I crumble like a pauper into that state
Of graceless humility owned by the guilty
Fixated by the fickle nature of fate
It's a game of doubts, swings and roundabouts
And in accordence with its paradoxical nature
We reclaim the sun of our enfeebled humanity
For a precious hour of cards and comraderie
Queens are slags, they take any card
My crime is awful, in the eyes of the lawful
And criminal alike
It's alledged I held up a brothel
Drunk, blind and armed with love,
kisses, cuddles and a cudgel
That, as an intoxicated thug,
I rode it like a stolen motorbike,
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
I wouldn't wed thus to this place I'm fed
As each day dawns I awake
From the peaceful sleep of the pawned
And in troubled waking thought
I imagine the cost
Of vision, freedoms, chattels and battles lost.