Soliloquy
Now shall the winter of our discontent
Be made more dreadful by this son of Bullingdon
And all the clouds that lower'd upon our state
Shall become pregnant with concealed deceit
Now shall th'unavailable fleet of HGVs
Deploy itself-unspeakable rhetoric
Prime all our pumps at every petrol station
Gushing vap'rous fuel to feed our politics
Now shall the migrant hordes that reach our shores
Furnish our discourse with much-needed scapegoats
And every thought of hallowed decency
Be banished to the bottom of the ocean;
Now every misplaced Brexit accusation
Will quickly be despatched with cunning guile
By the bare bodkin of Johnsonian wit
And so we shall ignore the long and short
Of it, that now we find ourselves well mired
In shit
