Constant pressure to be correct
Political correctness gone mad
When we write, they will dissect
Extracting words they deem bad.
What we say is recorded now
Be careful what we utter
Check our consonant and our vowel
They'll damn us if we stutter
We can't say this we can't say that
We hear it night and day
The world's gone mad and that's a fact
Restricted in what ever we say
What happened to poetic licence then?
You know, the way things used to be
When swords could be blunted by the pen
When thoughts and speech was free
Now they have us in a vice like grip
Choking us with restraint and law
Free spirits told to watch their lip
Being told what to write, what a bore!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem