Warfare rages, blood pressure races, worry lines etch into our faces
Predictability always soothes
So we turn our glaikit eyes to you
A saviour decked in red, white and blue
Be our hero, Mr Twee.
Crashing chords in minor keys
Please god - spare us all of these!
For our stilted minds cannot compute
Unfamiliar jarring tunes
Blandness is the sound we crave
To straighten out our troubled days
We want vanilla! We want beige!
And you're just the man, Mr Twee.
Suntanned smile and parting straight
Oozing safe, familiar traits
Ease of access - you smother us in balms of predictability
Where we can be moronically free
King of conventionality
You're the one for us, Mr Twee.
Don't torture us with genius
Or innovative brilliance
We just want convenience
Plodding bars of tediousness
Repetitivity is our creed
From invention, let us be freed
We want mediocrity guaranteed
And you'll deliver, Mr Twee
So from your mansion of ghastly tat
Deliver us something that's old hat
Let those platinum discs inspire
Tunes all withering and tired
That colour in our tedious days
With a sepia-tinted haze
A knighthood gift from Tory mates
Should be yours - we'll all campaign
Yours to cherish to the end of days
We love you, Mr Twee