Plain Ice

Is it a grin or a smile

It's near impossible to tell

This inch was always a mile

Closer to our hell

Allowed in to play ball in our gilded halls

The lack of regard turns catastrophal

Adult in the Room, meet Petulant Child

Running with scissors it's too late to hide

He's learnt we extend "the right thing to do"

Even to children playing by their own rules

A person born without a spine

A co-conspirator of crime

There's no playing ball, there's no compromise

There's no running scissors through our eyes