Blowing smoke up your arse, in the Autumnal glow

Will feed unpaid fires, as the weather, drops below.

Nature judges incompetence, in inches of snow.

Laying softly on the roads, while the icy winds blow.

When the lights go out, and the wheels stop turning

People take to the streets, fires start burning

The bins stay full, the rats start emerging.

Forget the past, then what’s, the point in learning.