The laboratory of Nigel Farage
At Nigel Farage’s laboratory
I saw England in Formaldehyde,
Lionhearts displayed in pickle jars
A skull and crossbone warning of cancer.
In Theresa May’s disco moves
I saw Brexit dance the night away,
the day away, the yesterday’s away, gone,
all of the days became harder than a soft Brexit.
At Earlsdon library a woman decides to remain
she is protesting to a mixed race volunteer
both do not wish to leave
they are forcibly removed.
At Nigel Farage’s laboratory
I hear a man deliver lies with a velvet tongue,
he is wearing a cheap suit from China
a thread is trying to leave the slave weaves
to many he looks and sounds respectable.

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