I’d love to lull

my little lad

so tenderly

to dreamy sleep,

to cradle my

wee baby boy,

to hold him close,

then, when he’s quiet,

to lay him in

his comfy cot,

but your Jimmy

and your Jenny

follow orders,

genocide

is what we do:

hope you’re happy,

hope you’re proud,

that from England’s

pleasant land,

your sons and daughters

sent us death...

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