You thought it worked, and it did work,
Until at last we knew:
You need them, all those hateful folk
Much more than they need you.
You big them up, year in, year out,
Let hate proliferate,
Then say: “Vote us to keep them out,
Stop politics of hate!”
Till then you say: “But we must court
The disenchanted vote,
The poor, the sick can do without.
Let’s trot that ghastly vision out
In her Gestapo coat.
And every crook and every lout,
We'll let them rave and let them shout,
Let's put them always on TV
So their mugs is all you see,
Until you either buy their trick,
Of vote for us when you feel sick."
I tell you what, my dear friend,
I know a lovely pier,
Please walk its length until the end
And quickly disappear.
It is a very gentle swim,
Though it might soon be over
And somewhat sewage-filled and grim,
By those White Cliffs of Dover.
Perhaps, without you, life will be
No better and no worse:
The sun will rise, the busy bee
Will zoom, the flowers bloom, we’ll see
The same old universe,
The birds will sing, the sun will set,
And very quickly we'll forget.
The folk will work, and get things wrong,
And put them right, and get along.
In fact, we’ll get along just great
Without your cultivated hate.
Somehow we’ll muddle through
Just fine. Without you.
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