"Welcome To Post-War Britain"
Blood drowns these once semi-celestial streets.
Blades protrude from the bodies of the youth, fins rising from oceans of flesh.
The youth shoot each other while the old shoot themselves; hospital walls turning a deep crimson.
The arthritis-ridden, poverty-stricken watch-maker works the time away, as the rich-unemployed-yet-fully-capable-mother-of-twelve-whore sits on his back, cigarette in one hand and a can in the other. A leech sucking on the Welfare State. Time is running out.
The Police saunter through the streets, stopping the Poets and the Saints as the teenage 'gangstas' stab the War Veterans for their wallets, the heroin-addicted mothers carelessly beat their children to death, and the paedophiles play their twisted games with the young.
Meanwhile, in a bin somewhere in London, Shakespeare sits with Blake, Byron & Lennon playing Poker - gambling away the last of their Respect.
And as the Chaos pulsates, a Raven perched on The Tower turns a ghostly white and lights a cigarette, watching its country die.
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