by Nick Gisburne
Oh please. You’re nothing special, nothing new.
Your message is a mix of muddled lies,
Another poisoned politician who,
In common with his comrades, we despise.
Percentage points, minorities, the young,
Are perfect propaganda, but the polls
Determine you are destined to be hung,
With all your party’s superficial souls.
The public will not countenance your kind.
Beware, before such folly bets the farm.
Your manifesto, shamelessly designed,
Has one objective, one intent: do harm.
Perhaps, without resistance, you could win,
But we are waiting. We are strong. Begin.
