Decided to have a couple of days away in a luxury Scottish hotel...and, for a giggle, thought we’d upgrade to the suite once occupied by the Lord and Lady of this baronial manor
it’s amazing..but as I sat in the study looking out of a window that’s been there since the 1720s...my thoughts turned, unsurprisingly, to revolution
Haven’t really got a title for it yet...just knocked it up...might expand on it...who knows?
Are the clans gathering once more
Not amongst the lochs and the heather
But In the job centres and claims offices of concrete citadels
Ready, again, to throw themselves upon a line of the queens bayonets
His lordship peers out of the window
Scanning his lands for the first sign of pitchforks and torches
Hundreds of simmering years in the melting pot
Though the reality strikes him like a bolt from the gathering darkness
Did he witness the same scene that I see today
Of a golden dawn played out, shamed into taking its leave
Where the bowing and scraping and hunger and dying
Fade away into history’s overflowing recycle bin
A pathetic rebellion, effortlessly crushed underfoot
As if only the pitiful, impotent venom of fools
Shovelled contemptuously into a paupers grave
Where the worms lick their lips and begin their revenge
It’s a bit flash for me, really...when I arrived to check in...the staff looked at me as if they thought I’d come to sweep the chimneys...
