Pinocchio’s clone sits on Labour throne, Polishing his nose, now that it is grown. Last left vestiges thrown over prams edge, Slowly, one by one, pledge by pledge by pledge, Discarded easily as old child’s toy, Doing what he’s told, a cynical ploy. Silence now golden, keeps out of the way, Goes up in the polls, says less every day. Draped in shadows, it is safer back there, Keep powder dry, no more devil may care. Don’t try hard to win, move quick in your shoes, Watch Rishi and Liz help Tories to lose. This Starmer secret? No manifesto. Nowt said? Into number ten, hey presto!
It’s war, it’s war, it’s definitely war. We know exactly what we’re fighting for, Don’t we? Don’t we, know what we’re fighting for? It’s chrystal clear ain’t it, just as before? One more political hot potato, All dressed up ready to kill for NATO. Wandering, aimlessly, out in the bush, Certain conviction which button to push. Upgrade deterrent, bigger and better, Domesday clock ticks louder, louder than ever. So delve deeper into dressing up box, Ignore striking workers, and monkey pox, Fear must be created, again, again, Propaganda grows more mental health pain.
Nothing is safe, nothing sacred, All we worked for stolen away, Pockets picked after taxes paid. What was once ours now belongs them, Those grubby fingered miscreants, Who openly boast greed is good. Blue sky thoughts fill faux Tory brains, “Why bother to keep things in house? We can have power positions, Without responsibility, Let them make inflated profits, Council chamber belongs to us.” Outside on streets through bleak estates Fear builds as privatisation Gluttons hoover hard earned wages With bold increased alacrity. Six million wait for treatment From health service, impossible In it’s ability to cope, To deliver without access To financial resource needs. This is genocide against those Without access to private care, Time travel back pre World War Two, It’s the American approach, Anti collective, dog eat dog, No freedom for all citizens, No such thing as society. Thatcher haunts from beyond her grave, Her students hell bent to finish Destruction of socialism.
Harry Rogers in The Yellow Room, 24th August 2022.