England
Three lions weep,
An English rose wilts,
Saint George hangs his head low,
Have we lost our way?
A lethargic populace and uncaring elite,
A blight of bigotry,
England is drunk upon past glories,
Like wines taken from distant lands,
At sabre point,
Empire is dead,
We are the ashes,
Soon to be scattered,
Our brothers of the Hills,
The Lochs,
The Isles,
And across the sea,
All creeds and ways of life,
All forsaken,
We are part of this world,
We do not hold thrones above it,
Humanity is our real flag,
Hubris has painted a sorry picture,
Something akin to a red cross.
WorldofHarley 