The Lion Vote

Upon their glass thrones

High in the sky

Their ivory towers loom

Bankers and traitors

Puppets and whores

Sitting in the court

Of the synagouge

Oh, they thought

The bleeting of sheep

Annoying and distracing

Draw our curtains close

Shut our windows

Then no more noise

From lowly plebians

So they thought

Counting their shekels

From stolen land and blood

From stolen sweat and tears

Cloistered and deaf

They did not hear

The rumbling before the roar

Of the Lion awoken from slumber

From the forest edge

Britannia banged her shield

Patriots heard the sound

With a fury they arose

Doing their duty to Nation

Hey, the synagouge thought

Let them have their vote

Inoculated and washed

With our filth

Burdened with our yoke

They will never leave

Our dream of Europe

Broken and bleeding

Stomped by our boot

We have sold well

Fear and weakness

Degradation and division

These sheep will need

Our crooked staff forever

A grand tapestry

Of lies and deceit

Weaved on our loom

Weaved with your

Own damned hands

On and on they went

Smug and insulting

Jovial and sneering

Children of Brittania though

Knew the soil was theirs

Not a foreigners

Nor a kikes

Some fought back

Some layed still

Brittania lent her strength

Now far across the waters

The ripples travel

A vote to quieten

To appease and fade

Into obscurity

Was instead a

Roar deep from roots

Unseen, unexpected

For those with vision

Those with hearing

Speak the truth you know

A historical moment

Is held in our hands

Nurture the child

So it grows strong

Under a dawn

As sunsets are not for us

This is a moment

When Britain looked down at her shackles

Without a flinch or a wink

She said no

Europe is not a foreigner’s

Dream

Advertisements