Shepton's Social classes

 Ah they'd like to think they're all equal

With their community hall

That their musical apparatus

Is nothing but a money making machine

Go then to their counter and pay your silver dime

Thirty pieces ought to do it

But mind they better shine

For the devil's in the detail

Or he's hidden in plain sight

It's about the traps and pitfalls

That's how he leads you into plight

You think that you have joined them

Their mysterious homogenous set

Like a gel of becoming

The eager flesh eating ambitious pet

Has started to devour them

In fact it's eating them alive

I went to see them becoming

But they turned into a beehive

There are the tulips of the field

The well healed crew

Who have grown out of universities

designed to build the few

Who will always grab the top jobs

Who will always succeed

Perhaps because they are obsessed

With the professions they need

To give them some kind of haven

A home to call a nest

Or a chance to claw at Eden

And find indoors their rest

I should have known the doctors

In the houses by the poor

Oh who could play at good neighbours

When the animals are at the door

And then those transient musicians

Whose egos are their fuel

Or their sheep of instrumentalists

Who follow in true tormentalist 

school

Then there are solicitors, dedicated

And disciplined who rove around the town

In range rovers with their friends

The accountants on their wings' smiling crown

Happy to be deputized by the king

of the scene or queen

For they hold the keys to the bank vaults

And will only open them when they mean

Throwing down the gauntlet

The glove makers and drapers

Go around as carpetbaggers

For the local general elections

Campaigning also are the merchants

And investors in foreign steel

Who always have a plan

No matter how generous they feel

Because you know their philanthropic

Tendencies do mask

The hidden skill and dark intentions

About which we're all too afraid to ask

So accept their charity we do

And volunteer our time

In thought that free social credit

Is not a form of nepotistic crime

And yet it greases the wheels

Of this strange little town

That is simply a microcosm of 

Any city in England

With less interference or notice

From the higher governmental climbs

It's that these enterprising fellows

See some rich vein of self-making advantage

They they can tap into

So they leave the hurly burly of the city

And retreat into a safer queue

Where it won't take so long

To reach their life goals

And why deny them the attainment of pleasure

Even if it costs them their souls

But many go to church to absolve themselves

 of their crimes

For this has already been said before

It was best of times, it was the worst of times

So dig out your suitcases and threaten to leave it all

But you turn your head and see instead

That Rome still has time to rise and fall

So you may as well stick around

Long enough to see what happens

And what that will be

I can hardly see

For the log is still jammed in the cabins