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Communities are built on pioneer toil and generational links,
with building, road and railway, applied to how a council thinks.
There’s sporting ties and country hall, to form the social hub,
and of course a meeting place - the central local pub.
Settlers come from o’er the world to satisfy their dream,
clearing land and felling trees with axe and bullock team.
New generations took the reins from passing genealogy,
so out of town upon a hill there thrives the cemetery.
And so it is upon a cross or golden etching in a plaque,
the years divided by a stroke of folk who left their mark.
One man from Ireland with his wife first opened up this land,
and three generations down the track two kin retain what’s planned.
Alas the street named Carey and commemoratives in the hall,
can’t touch these latest Carey’s who don’t seem to care at all,
for with their wealth and opulence grew evilness as well,
with a string of niggard ventures that has left a rotting smell.
They had gathered up a fortune built on those who come before,
but would never buy a raffle ticket or support the ‘Salvo’ corps,
yet they both attend the local Church, for they have a Godly fear,
so their prayers are always passionate to keep their conscience clear.
For they knew a devil’s advocate was sitting close to shoulder height,
who knew that prayer on Sunday is for some evil Monday plight,
and the Pastor of this Parish somehow deemed these fellows good,
then he retired and soon we had another in our neighbourhood.
A new broom swept a cleaner path when Pastor Adams took the reins,
so high he lifted up the Church morale there’s a flood of monstrous gains,
in fact the congregation swelled so much the Church is now too small,
so a campaign is about to start for raising funds to build a hall.
When the plate was passed around the coffers claimed a thousand quid.
The community was putting in - of course the Carey’s never did.
And Pastor Adams noticed all, where from his pulpit’s taking notes;
he’d heard that they got filthy rich from interest rates and under quotes.
Then one morning just on dawn, there’s a wailing from outside,.
Pastor Adams opened up his door and heard that Kevin Carey died.
His brother Jim’s beside himself now that his evil brother’s dead,
but Pastor Adams rang some other mob he hoped would bury Kev instead.
Until Jim in a sodden tone declared that he would make a deal,
since knowing his community and how the neighbourhood does feel.
He offered Pastor Adams every cent that he needs to build his hall,
of course there is a little catch that comes with handouts after all.
But the catch is only verbal, yet damning to a large degree,
when Jim ventured from a sobbing mess to a hardened referee.
To fulfil the Churches wishes, the truth, Pastor Adams now will taint.
Jim insisted that the Pastor must declare - that Kevin was a saint.
Pastor Adams vowed Jim’s wishes then deposited his cheque,
but he was up most of the night and close to a mental wreck,
as he tried to write those fitting words to fit Jim Carey’s need,
then he found his inspiration and by dawn he’d done his deed.
Feeling now quite satisfied that he would suit the needs of all,
Pastor Adams opened up his Church before Kev’s funeral.
The mourners quietly filtered in and filled the wooden pews,
before the Pastor read the eulogy subjected to Jim Carey’s views.
He thundered out that Kevin Carey was a tyrant and unjust;
a womanizer and a scammer and a bloke you couldn’t trust.
He’d abuse you and he’d use you, responsible he ain’t …
but compared to brother Jim here - Kevin was a bloody saint!
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