Twenty Twenty

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Twenty Twenty,
Don't look good,
Politics won't do what it should.

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Twenty Twenty,
Will make us rage,
As liars turn their tawdry page.

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Twenty Twenty
Will make me cross,
As Brexiteers don't give a toss.

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Twenty Twenty,
We'll fall apart,
Before any trade deal has chance to start.

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Twenty Twenty,
I now don't care,
Our United Kingdom looks set to tear.

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Twenty Twenty,
Strap us in,
As Brexit dumps us in the bin.

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Twenty Twenty,
A good New Year?
Fat chance of that I fear.

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Twenty Twenty,
Life's now a joke,
Gristle upon which we all will choke.

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Twenty Twenty,
Resolve away,
The cost of everything will you pay.

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Twenty Twenty,
A pile of dung,
But damn it all, Brexit's done!

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© Keith Murphy