The Greatest Thief Never Wanted

Hark! An invader. That be his branding,
But are they the mislaid of the land they’re commanding?
They claim it was promised so it’s grounds for a slaughter.
Even the thickest blood is found out by water.
The horror. He’s a villain —
Off his rocker before he was one of the children.
A marauder. The cops don’t listen,
They laugh him off and treat him like a politician.
Amassed a killing. Slips in undetected,
The bastard fills in public. It ought to be respected.
Not that he takes care of it, it’s lethal,
Weighs like a tumour in his body as though it’s foetal.
Like the needle, the gold-in toll is high;
He rolls in like he’s folding the whole tide;
Hoping a notice will someday arrive
But he has stolen so far, even Death walked by.
Why, he must be ill!
Try as he might, he just can’t be still;
High as a kite; he loves the thrill.
Lie and adjust and surely be kill.

He’ll always face the question of the lifer;
Put forth a thesis and they’d still be none the wiser.
It’s a losing battle that relentlessly consumes him.
Rattled, screw loose, kills the fool like a new king.
He is bruising. Why should that be though?
In the age of clay and pixel, what is freehold?
They own the chapel, the gavel, and the throne.
The greatest thieves have always been known.
Oh, they are just like him!
But they betrayed the order when they started murdering.
Too much thursdaying and the love got stranger.
The flag should’ve read “The private good is the danger.”
And so the traitors get off on their glory.
Ignore the demonstrators. It’s the same story:
“La lutte continue” but the crescendo gets bent,
Shot down in the avenue by men in torment.
The heaven-sent lay claim to each fate and purse;
They pay men in amens to keep the nation worse.
A curse infects the administration.
The Lord has too much real estate
He wants a patch of haven.

The Greatest Thief Never Wanted plays a mean card,
Decides to thorn the parliament like a piece of rebar.
They’re so vain, he just strolls in and waits;
Skin burns at the threshold. They fall for the bait.
But hey, what is prey to a kitchen?
They will kiss him.
They’ll have him in the parlour amusing the children;
Invited to the table, he’ll be in his dinner best;
How marvellous his stories! How wicked his jests!
With that very ease, he can slip into an inn;
Speaks a breeze, builds unions over gin,
Moves heretical theories, and back again
To court ministers and make their daughters his friends.

“What a gentleman, he treats rats as brethren!
Bet he does it so that then he can hang and sever them!”
Who is going to tell them? He revels in the irony. 
But when he gets home, the sole devil is anxiety.
The confrontation is fiery, the habit far gone;
He’s a con, stuck in the crud with a quill and song,
That he stole, of course, from their vanilla bong,
Don’t get it twisted. The thief is a guerrilla —
“Wrong!
They see you but they don’t care.
They believe you to be nothing but a friendly teddy bear!
You’re a plaything, the entertainment!”
The voice in his head rings loud till he caves in.
It’s depraved behaviour, without meaning,
Wee Willie Winkie runs amok when he’s dreaming.
He is bleeding. His skin is peeling.
His body fails and his yelps turn to screaming.
On and on, he steals forward,
Begging for the day when he will be cornered.
With evidence of his disposition,
The bard is arresting.
Won’t somebody listen?

The Greatest Thief Never Wanted on the run
For an honest living, yet he thinks he owes a gun.
It is futile. He belongs to the Order.
The Greatest Thieves Never Wanted make like water.