Cold Blue Eyes: Make It One for Covid...

Drinking in pubs resumed at 6 a.m. this morning in England as Prime Minister Boris Johnson rushed back to "normality" in spite of the UK death toll from Covid19 remains stubbornly higher than the combined European Union members. The Tories have been accused of pushing the country back to "normality" to satisfy the profits of their funders ahead of the safety of the public.

It's quarter to breakfast

Everyone's in the place

Including you and me.

So set 'em up Gove 

You obsequious bell-end

I think you should know

That you're not my friend, 

At the end of this dire episode

So make it one for blue Boris and one more

For covid.

I've got the routine
Put more fake news in the machine
I'm feeling so bad
Can't you make the stats easy... less sad???
I could tell you a lot
But none of it true, you old toad
Just make it one for blue Boris, and one more
For covid...

You know I talk shit,
but Mikey we're a great fit
And hid all these deaths we kept off TV.
So when I get boozed, won't you listen to me
'Til I've snoozed away
For my doze on the commode?

Make it one for blue Boris and one more
For covid.

Well that's how it goes
And Mike, I know you're gettin' anxious to close...
In on wasted old me,
So hope you didn't mind my not paying the fee
But this truth that I found,
It's gotta be drowned
Or the voters might explode.
So make it one more for blue Boris and one more
For covid...

The long, it's so long, the long, very long.... Oh God...

Johnson with ally Tim Martin, owner of Weatherspoons, who initially refused to pay his staff during lockdown and angrily told them to get other jobs. He also briefly tried to stay open during lockdown.

A World Made Small

Once I dreamt
Of galaxies of fire
Streaming stars of possibility
And supernovas of desire.

A future potent
with hope of a dawn
that would never set
Never darken again.

But you with golden locks
And loafing, languid mind
In oak-dark boardrooms
Spun while all declined

Exhaling tyrant breath
In dreadful mirth
At fate's misfortune -
Your accident of birth.

Bumbling and fumbling
Like an adolescent in the dark,
In a world made small
By your jolly jape, your prefect's lark,

Like a cuckoo in straw,
You might bluster and fluster
And wheeze and deny
With all the deceit you can muster.

But the lyre is broken,
Curtains torn in Empire's hall,
Your days draw late
Whispers echo in coming Fall.

With empty heart and hollow eyes
What spectres you must flee,
In this once-sceptred Isle
Set on a septic sea.

But no Antony, only Brutus
Shall the tin throne attend,
A kindless, covid kiss
Thy final, foolish, bloody end.