Switching Channels

 

 

 

 

Listen to Live Reading

 

 

 

Listen to Suggested Audio

 

The Prodigy “Baby Got A Temper (Instrumental)”

 

 

 

 

Can anybody point me to the nearest available exit
I’m sick and tired of motherfucking Brexit
Are we in or are we out or are we in-between
Would it be okay to sneer in manner indiscrete
Seriously, what the fuck became of our proud nation
When were we so shaken to foundations
When did mainstream media proceed to take the lead on placing bets on which direction we are facing
Would it be okay to break formation
Flee the crime scene, head downstream to some place more serene and leave the careless whispers for the rhythm thieves possessing guilty feet
United Kingdom, give me strength
If only to endure the stench of gassy politicians with no backbone to make known a single thing aside from lies that slip and slide between their teeth
If only to make sense of feeling nothing but contempt
If only to wake up the sleeping dogs that clearly overslept
If only we could just hit mute and make it go away
Instead, we have to suffer “and another thing” on every single day
I’d rather pull the pin upon this live grenade, recline and watch it blow up in my face
Then face another senseless referendum
Growing ever restless in the name of slow decay
This bullshit is relentless, can’t we make it go away
If only there were island far away that we could send them
Then maybe we could find a true agenda
Call themselves pragmatic, I emphatically oppose
Sick to death and back again of that which they schematically impose
And no, I do not wish to put this to the public vote
Time to ring the changes on a monumental scale
How long can they expect us to prevail such epic fail
How long is this piece of string and need we cut it slack
Should this give them power then, well, we just take it back
Tune out in mass exodus
Before we all grow bitter
All we do is feed the monkey nuts on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
Grunting like the runts of litter
All the while, our once proud country’s heading due south down the bloody shitter
No more gritted teeth, that simply eats at the enamel
Burn old rope and same old flannel
Ditch remote
Go switch the channel

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

 

 

GREY KEEPER FRAME

 

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