The dead cry out for answers – but answers get they none.
Into the Valley of Death rides a nation, while its leaders boast of valiant deeds, spun and done.
Adorned with glorious words, our Pied Piper beckons us onwards into his abyss.
Yet, clad in the people's flag, he still spins that airless canyon as a paradise of bliss.
Even as the crowned virus devours its victims, the nation's piper still does too little too late.
Into the Valley of Death rides a nation, still waiting for its fate.
Armed with thoughts of a vanished past and guided by maps conjured in a different world, our Pied Piper dreams of gunboats and glory.
Yet, beguiled by the azure magic of the sirens, and lured ever closer to destruction, could what engulfs us be a very different story,
Like the thoroughbred donkey generals of a terrible war, our Great Siren could have sung a different song. He steered our ship into two crises, not just one.
Perhaps the fate of Britain ought not to have gone so savagely wrong.
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