In Canberra’s murk, where shadows choke the light,
A society stumbles, blind to its own blight.
Wealth hoards its crowns, all tarnished and cold,
While Labor’s grip strangles dreams of old.
On pedestals high, the elite sneer and preen,
Senior servants, corrupt, their hands far from clean.
Their titles are masks for a system decayed,
Where integrity’s corpse is callously flayed.
Mediocre idols, like Angel Marina, stand tall,
Propped up by lies, no merit at all.
Their fleeting fame, a hollow, vile jest,
While the masses are crushed, denied any rest.
For twenty-five years, Labor’s claws sink deep,
In ACT’s soul, where the wretched still weep.
A “just-us” system, rotten to the core,
Serving the rich while the poor beg for more.
The courts, now dens of deceit and disgrace,
Bend to the powerful, spit in justice’s face.
Trust lies in ruins, shattered by greed,
As Labor’s reign sows a poisonous seed.
Budgets bleed dry, deficits piled in shame,
Taxes choke tight, yet they dodge all the blame.
Light rail, a farce, creeps slow through the mire,
While housing hopes burn in a government’s pyre.
The voiceless cry out, but their pleas go unheard,
Labor’s elite mock their pain with each word.
Complacency festers, a cancer that grows,
In halls where corruption’s dark river flows.
No climate’s saved, though they boast and they scheme,
Their promises hollow, a bureaucrat’s dream.
The marginalised rot, while the powerful feast,
Hypocrisy reigns as integrity’s deceased.
Independents rise, but the rot’s sunk too far,
Labor’s machine grinds hope into tar.
The system’s a lie, built for those at the top,
A society blind, where justice must stop.
In Canberra’s cold heart, where truth’s left to die,
Labor’s betrayal paints black the sky.
No mirror reflects their hypocritical face,
Just a city enslaved by their endless disgrace.
© Bakchos 2025
