…

the war in france, the secret war
is shushy-shush – so say no more

it must be grim for all of those
albanians to flee in droves

the frightened men of fighting age
that flee what’s left of death’s rampage

it’s terrible – what can we do
as paris burns & lyon too?

i’ll wave a flag – so all can see
the bravery in humble me

the stunningness in little i
who shall become a butterfly

i’ll jab the kids & wear a frock
i’ll buy some tits but keep me cock

& bend the knee for all who come
the ones that flee the beating drum

of racist climate change’s blitz
they’ll stay forever in the ritz

the dorchester & council flats
throughout this land of bowler hats

of sausage rolls & banging pots
they’ll live with us – we’ll have the lot

beside the thames, the trent, the tyne
or in your house but not ’round mine

…