By brian francis
You enslaved a world and called it empire.
While the sluts and bastards,
you worshipped as kings and queens,
toyed with the peoples of other lands.
Bleeding them dry and beating them down,
stealing generation after generation
from the emerald isle,
to feed your war machine;
starving a nation into submission.
But, never did they submit
Instead they fought you in your own streets,
defeating you in your own game.
After, three hundred, years of torture
they stand free and proud with a future bright;
while you cluster in the tea rooms
still playing at the game of empire,
though you have nothing now, but memories.
Piece by piece, you were driven out,
Losing your precious hold on America;
Seeing traitors, in the heroes of revolution.
Piss on George! Piss on his memory!
The tainted inbred bloodline
to hell with the lot.
To hell I say!
Terrence MacSwiney won his battle,
even though it cost his life.
Brixton was watched by the world,
as one man used honor as a tool
to defeat his captors, and win against all odds;
‘Enduring The Most’ for his ‘Principles Of Freedom’.
The empire is gone, though pride might remain,
it is a stagnant cesspool in your soul.
Just a distant dream of what once was,
as you wriggle in the death throws of independence.
Joining with the other nations of yesterday
In a vain attempt at staving off tomorrow.
The union dragging you down into it’s own mire.
We have won you are defeated.
We are free.
Copyright ©2021 brian francis