A mind set in need – of decapitation
Middle England’s plastic sophistication;
Some small minds, some disgustingly gross
Wagging tongues they’re morbidly morose.
Existences fabricated – upon a farce
Warm in the knowledge, you’re so middle class.
Keep up the mimicry, of decency lost
Yet deny your duplicity and at what cost?
Fake persona, functions flawlessly well
Never to waken, too waken and smell.
Your culture immersed in bigotry abundant
Prejudice too – understandingly redundant.
Expect now burglary, rape and pillage
When foreigners move – into the village
So insular and intolerant of the topic
Too busy being – ignorant and myopic.
Oh! Middle England, where is your soul
The spirit indolence has taken its toll,
Convict and drown the true romantic
Deep down and cold, in the North Atlantic.
Here follows the cure for life so tragic
Bag the suspicion, for a belief in magic;
Run naked through your cobbled streets
Quoting from verse as a passionate heart beats.
Women’s Institute and the country pub
New car, holiday home near Yacht club,
Attend the harvest festival, a necessary drag
Adorned with bunting and the Union flag.
Safe in your village, Egocentric-on-the-Wold.
Nurse the blame culture and stories unfold
Civilization stagnant, craves a cure indeed
Could well be a start – to renounce the greed;
Acquire more money, increase the wealth
Take a broker’s advice – in the use of stealth.
Two pensions each with bonds to invest
Then relax and await your cardiac arrest.
