Hush hush

Constant rustles as people mutter and murmur,

About the secrets of this land,

But please do not prod the beast, nor disturb her,

Else you’ll feel the wrath of the crown,

But speak not and play puppet,

to this safe and sworded regime,

But remember, these old chains are bound to your mind,

You can be supreme!

When your voice is lost and hushed and quashed,

Read this out aloud,

We may be the dreamers for now,

But soon we’ll be the crowd.

Address the Setbacks

Smackdown on the working classes,
Clampdown on the streets,
And then you wonder,
Why we despise the elites,

Cuts, Cuts, Cuts,
Rebuffs, Rebuffs, Rebuffs,
Bust, Bust, Bust,
Enough, Enough, Enough,

Enough of the sworded lies,
Enough of those beady eyes,
Enough of your meaningless script,
Enough of your stale transcripts,

We will rise,
We will be counted,
We will win someday,

We will challenge,
We will conquer,
We will be great again.

Old England

Mindless murmurs,

Daytime gurners,

Those without a clue,

Early learners,

Crash and burners,

Those with nothing better to do,

The list goes on and on and on,

Those who’ve come and gone and gone and gone,

Their stories will always go untold,

Their tales so strong and bold,

Their stories so damp and stale,

Their faces so weary and pale,

The drinks tumble down and down and down,

‘Pour me another one…another one…another one mate’

Carry on spilling out your guts,

‘Fore you’re told ‘the bar’s now shut!’,

Sup the last of your London Pride,

Speaking of how Old England had died.