Tuesday, 11 March 2014

A nation of discontent: The Commons

The union's place of ancient power,
cradled with those within,
from public glare they deliberate and cower,
and condemn our thoughts as sin,
refuse to listen to our pleas,
with every passing vote,
a castle without water or trees,
defenceless without a moat.

Motions passed with incompetence,
motions a people all concede,
most a situation without importance,
a detriment on a people they impede,
a question we all need,
in order to defeat,
those our power to us deceive,
with comfort on their leather seats.

These people will not learn,
and never shall be wise,
to ignore when your people yearn,
the people then shall rise,
to install their sense of freedom,
a revolution the people need,
to renew our kingdom,
as a garden removes a weed.

They like to talk of fairness,
a subjective definition,
though under our new Blairess,
fairness without fruition,
when the majority have to pander,
but how can it be fair,
the majority a double standard,
when the minority they mostly care.

Whether age, health, sex or skin,
when all to blame for another,
a scapegoated majority treated akin,
some are more equal than others,
This is where the politicians hide,
within the halls rustic,
and remove themselves from the people's side,
and deny our people's critique.

And this is where our laws are made?
they buy what others sell,
where laws are treated as passing trade,
 all mostly from Brussels,
where are we to hold account,
when others make our laws,
from those we hold without reasonable doubt,
the people deserve more.

Why do we elect these swine?
as our vote matters not,
as we pay our levied tithe,
those centrists leave us there to rot,
from the beauty of the outside walls,
the cancer lay within,
sell our nation as the Eagles whore,
our blood - our armies bathes in.

These elected serve not our will,
only their own ambition,
yet blood they will happily spill,
on America's black gold mission,
They speak of Multiculturalism,
as if that makes things better,
if we don't conform before the Cataclysm,
our minds arrested and fettered.

This house is without independence,
when pressured they consistently yield,
without citizen recompense,
we lay dead upon their battlefield,
take heed from their poisoned words,
the serpent's tongue needs a whetstone,
supporters of this venomous hoard,
 their skulls prop up the grindstone.

This house needs to stand upon it's own two feet,
instead of on it's knees,
bring yourselves out of those seats,
allow us to be free,
enslaved under western rhetoric,
these slavers hold the whip,
ode to the people's twist,
the contract is ours to rip.

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