It’s been this way since the Domesday Book.

So convinced

no one would need ever take

an arrow in the eye again.

An arrow in the eye,

there are other ways to blind,

or to be blind.

There’s an exhibition of driftwood

washed up on the river.

Washed up on the river,

choked to shallows by uncut reeds.

They slashed the hospitals,

knocked on the doors

of the ill and workless

Ill and workless,

fleeing borders.

Dancing while we tried to keep

our parent’s throats from burning.

But he’s here to talk about pylons

Here to talk about pylons,

cheeks blazing, not with shame,

but misplaced sunscreen.

And he realises too late

about red coats and foxes;

Red coats and foxes

don’t solve every problem

The river is the centre of the valley.

The river is always the centre of the valley.

That’s how erosion works.

That’s how erosion works.

Erosion of truth, trust and tolerance,

so all that’s left are hollowed stumps.

It’s no surprised we want you gone.

And to be fair, I think you knew that.

In the end, I think you knew that

In the end, the pylons didn’t make us angry anymore

You had no concern

That the river never turned from brown to blue

And nor had your national shirts

And neither had you.