The Great Game Poem by john mcleish

the hidden hand that moves the peices
owns the board, squares and places
a secret poo'er the figures canne' see
nor comprehend intelectually

puppets dinne' ken the great games rigged
in ignorance and ego dance a jig
demand to be enslaved incarcerated by fear
who needs freedom when you've got football and beer

free will an illusion the sheepdog bites
wolves lick their lips roast mutton tonite
safe in yur pen so parochial wee
who needs te think when you've got the T.V