The calendar progresses
as the sun grows long
There remains the sense
that these days are wrong
White and fuchsia blossoms
burst forth into light
The lawn grows apace
yet something’s not right
The sun has been sparing
cloud and rain more the rule
Invisible winter that reaches
like some dreaded ghoul
This grey pallor that creeps
between each ray of light
sucks the life from our waking
by some phantom fright
Using statistical models
these tyrants masquerade
as some kind of saviors
to support their charade
We can see through you
there is no mistake
the more that we give you
the more you will take
We don’t fear this virus
and this much is true
Only one menace we face
and clearly it’s you
Ferguson Murderson, “scientist” sly,
Sold his soul for a porkie pie.
Now, we must wait till he goes to Hell;
And our Ford Wenty’ll be there to tell.
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