Light the blue touch paper and then retire,
Another choice is also to be found
I talk of a worm that crawls through the ground
Not the crow that surmounts the lofty spire.
There's so very little for to us admire
When thieves stake their claim 'pon hallowed ground.
Trouble follows soon and I'll be bound
There'll be just a few illusions to expire.

We've seen it all before, maybe though this time,
We should take break to ponder why
It will be that Donald or Goldman's bank
That drives that nation down to the tank.
Who'll be the 'man' to make dead pilgrims cry
Speak, have your say, soon that'll be a crime.