Oh, would it were the happy truth: consigned

Unto the flames of hell, that Crooked House, 

Where Mammon’s ermined scarlet whores decide

Which trough they’ll dig with snuffling filthy snouts!

Those arsonists so proudly pose in food

Pantries, yet loudly praise the firefight;

Rapacious brutes, they Gaîa do denude 

Of hope; they’re criminals, who firelight.

Rich Croesus, his accusing finger wags,

Whilst swag he thieves from undeserving poor;

And Parliamentary bitter and twisted hags

Dog-whistle again, the xenophobic boor.

   Who’ll spare the fuel, wherewith to torch this gruel

   Britannia’s grade one listing ship of fools?