The Lord and Lady Airhead-Jones

Swim naked in the sea;

The last remaining patriot

Is hanging from a tree,

And doubters laugh at the idea

That this land could be free.

 

Old soldiers in the nursing home

Binge out on TV dross,

While brass behind the bunker’s door

Will not admit their loss,

And the well-heeled party members

Could scarcely give a toss.

 

The crooked weekend manager

Is angling for a bung,

Though all the songs of liberty

Are stubbornly unsung,

And there will be no victory

Until the bell is rung.

 

Yet from the ashes of despair

Emerge the glory days,

As missions are accomplished

In unexpected ways,

And as the afternoon air warms,

A new-found nation prays.