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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