They hide behind ‘the cloth’ or positions of authority,
Their foul deeds going unseen by most of society.
They choose their victims who are vulnerable and young,
They threaten serious consequences, so their acts go unsung.
They care not for their victims lives or what might ensue,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
The victims are told they are the ones to blame,
They then must live with the pain and the shame.
This horrible secret gradually festers within them deep,
It affects them daily and severely disturbs their sleep.
It pervades their thinking and floods every sinew,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
As each victim becomes a survivor, who do thy trust,
Their living becomes difficult, their dreams turn to dust.
Their self-worth disappears as the shame gnaws at their soul,
They seek solace in drugs and self-medicated alcohol.
Self-harm transfers the pain, but always returns anew.
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
Laws are broken and employment comes and goes,
The deep underlying cause nobody knows.
Marriages split asunder and relationships barely start,
Families fail to understand what is tearing them apart.
Parents question their worth and siblings are affected too,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
So often we have seen a cruel perpetrator revealed,
But their bosses arrange a transfer, their lips forever sealed.
For fear that the organisation might fall into disrepute,
The compromising evidence files all go down the shute.
Lost in the archives forever, it’s a fact, it’s true,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
Those in the know who wash their hands in this situation,
And leave the crime undisclosed are part of the equation.
They should be sentenced together for the lives they have wrecked,
In jail, their so-called ‘loss-of-memory’ they can reflect.
Today’s so-called open transparency is good, if it were true,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
Meanwhile, many of the survivors give up ever finding hope,
Sadly, they rid themselves of the pain at the end of a rope.
Others become wildly aggressive with hostility towards authority,
Bouts of serious depression are constant in the lives of the majority.
In their minds their tormenting demons line up in a queue,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
When Jesus Christ got bashed and nailed to a cross,
He looked up to the heavens and called to the boss.
Perhaps he could see the future vile deeds done to victims,
Or the foul perpetrators and their supporting systems.
Whatever he saw caused him to cry out anew,
Oh my God, they know not what they do.
I’m Peter Mack and that’s how I feel.