Stop all the boats, cut off the RNLI’s phone
Toss the rabid Right a juicy little bone.
Silence the Libtards and with thumping drum
Bring out the Daily Mail, let Rishi’s Gammons come.
Let Suella’s Rwandan planes circle merrily overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘Your Asylum Claim is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of British doves
Let our humanitarian standing wear black cotton gloves.
“From the North, the South, the East and West
Fleeing conflict and war, we sought safety and rest.
You were our hope, our harbour, our Dover, our song
We thought you’d give us refuge. We were wrong.”
The EU’s stars are not wanted now: put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away all compassion as we enter these woods
For this Tory government can never come to any good.
(H/T W.H. Auden’s ‘Funeral Blues’, 1938)
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