A World where all know freedom and of any vices free
Though not one truly perfect person or so ‘twould seem to me
And though not one truly perfect person many good people just the same
And their numbers are in millions far too many for to name
But one bad apple rots the bag of apples as it has oft been
said
And in the corridors of power corruption it is bred.
Many of the finest of good people are complete strangers to
fame
For corruption and social injustices them one could never blame
On behalf of the less well off they have worked tirelessly
And it is not their fault in any way that there is poverty.
Utopia on this Planet Earth will always it would seem
Give thoughts of comfort to all of those who dare of such to dream
And a perfect World is something that human kind will never know
When in the corridors of power the seeds of corruption grow.