All I can hear is “Smash the borders!
Fuck our culture! Take our rights!
Please, gag us! Jail us! Ban free speech!”
Churchill’s realm is thus possessed
by scum who’d sacrifice their daughters
for multicultural delights
that taste as sweet as toilet bleach.
The tyrants trade, as few protest,
their peoples, who had squeezed through slaughters,
their nations and their age-long fights,
for thirty silver pieces each.
In London they have acquiesced
to their own downfall, they applaud as
every King Cnut invites
more deadly waves to flood the beach.
I can’t return there. I detest
their creeping, crawling moral fraud as
I would hate a worm that blights
and shrivels a once-juicy peach.
And so I turn towards a nest
of sanity across the waters.
Poland, bulldog that still bites,
wise beast that doesn’t simply screech!
The poodles yap, “Oi, Budapest!
Oi, Warsaw, Prague, obey our orders!
You’re all just racist parasites,
each one of you a selfish leech!
We’re your saviours, we know best!
Now kiss the Saracen marauders,
you cabbage-eating satellites,
and learn the rules your masters teach!”
But plucky Poland’s not impressed.
It doesn’t bow to fools, and nor does
Hungary – the East unites
once more, dear friends, unto the breach!
There’s fire in the Slavic breast
that put invaders to the sword as
England slept. Now it ignites
once more, while prattling zealots preach.
Last Men in Europe, I request
asylum in your flag-filled quarters,
from the clones whose appetites
to cleanse their souls far overreach.
