These Dark Angels...

O these dark angels offer their forbidden fruits For reduced prices on ' freedom's' vast market place. It is merely a matter of finding one that suits A particular client's sordid needs and tastes. Meanwhile, Love lies bleeding: a precious rose cut down By its own thorns. A stark silence pervades this world Of cut- price souvenirs: where now the only sound That can be heard is the crashing of the absurd And the garish: as vain image courts vulgar word. Meanwhile, the bold prophets of Light cannot be heard. Life seems to be flooded by dreadful, endless night. And no - one can work out who's wrong and who is right.