the state of things
Lib Dem Blues
by The Urban Batcave Death Poet - 17:42 on 07 May 2011
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent Vince Cable from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the trumpets and with muffled vote
Bring out the coffin, let the Daily Mail gloat.
Let aeroplanes circle, into the void they'll be sucked
Scribbling on the sky the message
The Lib Dems are Fucked.
Put lead piping around the neck of the dove,
And into the black oblivion, give it a shove.
They were my middle, my centre, just a bit to the left,
But now they've lost direction, and left me bereft.
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
They thought they could change British politics forever
They were wrong.
Clegg is not wanted now; put him out with the bins,
Pack up the Huhne and the Kennedy and the Ming,
You're finished now, you fools,
time to draw your last Breath
Go back to your constituencies and
Prepare for your Death.
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