The Day That Brexit Broke My Brain

The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
And in my head there was a pain
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The voices came and said again
‘Dividing, all dividing, all’
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall

Last night I stayed up late to see
Our Parliament in disarray
And dreams of Bedlam came to me
Last night I stayed up late to see
The frenzy and insanity
That’s Britain as it is today
Last night I stayed up late to see
Our Parliament in disarray

‘Division!’ And again the call
The knell of the division bell
Dividing, all dividing, all
‘Division!’ And again the call
And all divided and we fall
In broken pieces into hell
‘Division!’ And again the call
The knell of the division bell

The sun is out and you may sing
Your hopeful songs with fingers crossed
And wonder what today will bring
The sun is out and you may sing
Of hope and keep on whistling
My voices say that hope is lost
The sun is out and you may sing
Your hopeful songs with fingers crossed

The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
And in my head there was a pain
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The voices came and said again
‘Dividing, all dividing, all’
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall

© Gail Foster 26th March 2019

 

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Owen Smith Doth Take The Pith

*

I’m not impressed by Owen Smith

Methinks that he doth take the pith

Just wasn’t sure until today

What moved me so to feel this way

 …

Today; the leadership debate

I didn’t have too long to wait

Once you’ve seen it, it’s distracting

Owen Smith is over-acting

See him roll his sleeves up there?

He’s channelling a bit of Blair

Then he’s Harry Potter, then

He’s Brutus dressed as Mister Benn

Jazz hands.  What’s that all about?

Turn it down, no need to shout

For no-one needs a politician

Who thinks he’s at a Glee audition

Now Jeremy, he plays it calmer

More yer kitchen sink type drama

Monochrome, with moody stare

More Alan Bennett, to be fair

Owen’s acting sounds to me

Like desperate soliloquy

His every cliché rings a bell

And all his soundbites bore as well

I reckon Owen Smith’s a fake

He’s on the stage the pith to take

Off, off, and let the curtain fall

I don’t trust Owen Smith at all

*

© Gail Foster 18th August 2016

Well, Well, Welby

Well, well, Welby

Beg your pardon

He’s got three Poles

At the bottom of his garden*

And joining in with daily prayers

Some Syrians beneath the stairs

Asylum seekers in his shed

And Communists

Beneath his bed

 

He’s just doing what he can

To pander to the ‘common’ man

To separate the issues, see

Of race and the economy

With good intent to bridge the gap

‘Twixt logic and the racist cr*p

For Welby is a diplomat

Just in case, and just like that

 

It’s not that we’re a racist state

Good luck with that one, Welby, mate

Imagine pubs across the land

The dodgy banter, beer in hand

That Archbishop got it right

We’re all white mate, we’re all white

Share our wealth with all the planet?

Outrageous! (outraged Bob from Thanet)

 

But what of all the fish and bread

With which five thousand mouths were fed

Would Jesus Christ have found it hard

To put up Poles in his back yard?

 

by Gail

 

* A play on the words of an English joke, “Well, well, well, three holes in the garden!”