Tory Fodder

Tory Fodder

They sat at the table
Drinking the finest claret
From the vineyards of bleeding souls
The deep red was drunk in abundance
And stained their hands

They were feasting on roasted pauper
Served up on a bed of burning pensioners
The servants wheeled their chairs
As fast as their legs could carry them

This added to the entertainment
of those who would be kings

Dessert was the sweet smell of success
Served up on a mountain of crushed spirits
Gorged by the icy cold mouths
of the new Earls of avarice

A good sleep for those that indulged
Whilst the starving made do
Tomorrow the lords will be hunting
For others like me and you

This is the new dawn of Eton and Oxbridge
The Princes are back amongst the stars
This pure breed of a brand new royalty
Have never known a world that has scars

We are not to their taste
We are their waste
This will be no world new and brave
As the rich once again treat the poor as a slave.

© SJ2010