The New Bedlam | Peter Marsh

How did those freaks of ancient crime Hoist on us endless mounting greed? How was the clueless fl ock on-line Hooked on nostalgia’s slow drip feed?

How did malevolence refi ned Pull hoods over rose tinted eyes? How was a new Bedlam built here Upon these dark Brexited Isles?

Serve me a pint of taken piss. Serve me a bowl of steaming shite. Serve me a pile of karmic lies. Serve me what serves you right.

There’ll be no end of mental plight Nor shall this curse be ever banned Till we have swept this new Bedlam From England’s godforsaken land.