Britain, 23rd April 2009

City slicker, arse licker,
Leading the procession -
The firing line of the recession

Banks folding, head balding,
Briefcase cuts through riot lines -
He's a hero of our times

Prices crashing, FTSE flashing,
Red for stop. Red for danger.
Tells himself it's nothing major,

Lunch break, great escape,
Staring at a Union Jack -
"Let's bring GREAT Britain back."

What a pearl, change the world,
Couple of minutes later,
He gets himself a cheapo paper:

War's coming, nuke bombing,
You will all die today
But celebrities splatter the front page.

Back to work, "Afternoon sir,
Can I see you in a moment?"
An hour later he's redundant

Feeling blue, on the Tube,
Lazy layabout on the dole -
This label cuts into his soul.

He's depressed, house repossessed,
Gets the hell out of Dodge -
Moves into a Travelodge.

Wife's left, he's bereft,
His life has really hit the skids -
It fades like the faces of his kids.

It's not just numbers, it's not just figures,
Though this problems could be bigger
Everything's gone. He's wasting away.
St George's Day 2009. Hip hip hooray?