I sneak about in the dark,
even before the song of the lark.
My Hoodie covering my head,
anonymity is best, it is said.
And hopefully my face
from cameras dotted about the place.
I clean up the suburb’s light poles,
from posters stuck to them in scrolls.
They are a mess,
we must all confess.
Someone has to do it,
and because no one else gets to it,
it might as well be me,
as anybody,
you see.
It’s god’s work,
(which means in the dark, anonymously)
(like a hooker with a halo)
good as gods work as anything,
well, at least this is a real thing.
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