So there is blood upon the street.
Hatred’s vein has slit a servant,
vented its bile onto black tarmac.
As the gimlet eyed ring master,
taking lessons from the fuhrer,
unveils his identikit Nazi cartoon,
we Anglo-Saxon sons and daughters
watch as England’s wasted youth
smash up our neighbours’ cafes.
The nation who wrote
the world’s history books
has plainly forgotten how to read.
Are we happy yet?