It’s another busy Monday
Or so my Outlook says
Cause it hasn’t clocked the court case
Calling me upstairs

Above the meeting madness
I left torpedoing downstairs
The judge is hearing evidence
The jury sits prepared

Black gowns sweep the floorboards
Dark-oaked and clocked
In years of withheld judgment
It’s time to pledge my oath

They’re demanding truth from me
But I say – they don’t get it
By now it’s too far buried
Beneath my long-gone wreath
And whatever they said I could be
Is forgotten

Or is it?

“She never wanted emails
The ones that find you well
She objects to dreams
That live to serve
Her empty clientele”

My Defence – my precious fortune
He sees what I’ve become
And still defends a future
Where my crimes can be undone

And by his words
That carry faith
That don’t belong in court
I see how fast I got dislodged
By lies now so well wrought

Perhaps I could get ready
To admit that I was wrong?

Wrong to dress in clothes I loathed
Wrong to sell the junk I sold
Wrong to fear that being bold
Would cause me to unfold
If I ever dared to close my Outlook

By now the jury rumbles
All propped up in their chairs
“This girl – she’s getting serious”
“This fraud has shown she cares”

“It’s done,” the judge declares
“You’ve started the repairs”
And by virtue of his verdict
I’m sent swiftly back downstairs

Back down here, I want to know –

Can a hint of truth be enough
To fight the mis-intention
Of monied greed that swallows up
Our hard-earned self-connection?

With no court to test my honour
No Defence to save my name
The meetings might just kill me
But I’ll no longer take the blame
So I’ll keep trying all the same
To close my God Damn Outlook