Sunday Is Every Day.
I thought, Oh, what a lovely day.
I got up late and went outside
To enjoy the Sun...and there wasn't any!
It had disappeared,
No longer on display,
For all to see.
Instead, it was masked by a cloud of silver and gold
And Haloed with the bright great "C"...of copyright!
It's the property of News International now,
For the rest of eternity.
But I am curious, a man of drouth,
Will I see the world anew?
Will The New and everlasting Sun beam eternal light and truth,
In a way that the old one could never do?
And will there be lots of titty news, bared for all to see.
Will I be willing to pay...for Rupert's Murdoch's truth?
Will I be willing to forego, the words of a sexual sleuth?
Will I be able to forgive the waste of all those trees?
Have I lost my Sunday addiction to reading of M.P.s afflictions?
Of blackmailing and menacing government transactions?
Or celeb self-indulgences made up from scurrilous imaginations?
To boost the sales of their latest revelations.
Or their rather dubious attractions.
Privacy can be boring...and very silent too.
When phones aren't tapped and there is no news.
Then what has the media mogul left but His world views
And to turn his truth round on itself and sell it off to youse!
Now, that's what we get on a Sunday
Levinson's truth and nothing fancy.
No walk in the park, just kept in the dark.
Whilst the Sun above burns way above you.
And all for 50 p!...
Originally Posted by Terpe
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