Warfare rages, blood pressure races, worry lines etch into our faces

Predictability always soothes

So we turn our glaikit eyes to you

A saviour decked in red, white and blue

Be our hero, Mr Twee.

 

Crashing chords in minor keys

Experimental creativity

Please god - spare us all of these!

For our stilted minds cannot compute

Unfamiliar jarring tunes

Blandness is the sound we crave

To straighten out our troubled days

We want vanilla! We want beige!

And you're just the man, Mr Twee.

 

Suntanned smile and parting straight

Oozing safe, familiar traits

Ease of access - you smother us in balms of predictability

Where we can be moronically free

King of conventionality

You're the one for us, Mr Twee.

 

Don't torture us with genius

Or innovative brilliance

We just want convenience

Plodding bars of tediousness

Repetitivity is our creed

From invention, let us be freed

We want mediocrity guaranteed

And you'll deliver, Mr Twee

 

So from your mansion of ghastly tat

Deliver us something that's old hat

Let those platinum discs inspire

Tunes all withering and tired

That colour in our tedious days

With a sepia-tinted haze

A knighthood gift from Tory mates

Should be yours - we'll all campaign

Yours to cherish to the end of days

We love you, Mr Twee