“Creepy” was a member of the Westminster elite,
Determined in his actions and always so discreet.
He trod the halls of power with arrogance and grace,
Pulses of entitlement and smugness on his face.
A product of a Public School, Eton? I’m not sure,
He was gifted in depravity, rotten to the core!
He preyed on the innocence of trusting little boys
Using them, abusing them, treating them like toys.
The orphanage, the boys home, all but a cattle pen
Where boys could be chosen, some as young as ten.
Creepy had no morals, no conscience nor, no guilt,
Plus a paucity of feeling as he saw their spirits wilt.
Its time for retribution, time for justice to be done,
A time that men like Creepy thought would never come.
Public opinion, fired by Saville and Smith,
Proving these atrocities were not an urban myth.
Galvanising police, the Establishment too
Nervously checking entries in Who’s Who
The victims are all hopeful, justice is in sight
For the pain caused to them in the dead of night.
Creepy isn’t worried, he couldn’t give a damn
There has already been chosen a sacrificial lamb
The ranks have been closing soon to be quite tight
The atrocities still go on in the dead of night