A prelude to wealth
These fields were never greener
than when puddled bloody red,
when the rise of revolution
woke an empire from her bed.
When she revelled in her treachery
and dashed her children's hope,
snapping reasoned voices quiet,
to swing beneath a rope.
Her account was never heaving
in the days when men agreed,
when the peace that they believed in
was suppression to her greed.
Now the shackles all are broken
the dogs of war are loose,
the vaults again are open
and the heads are in the noose.