Farewell, My Lovely

O intone a final anthem
For thee, grocer's girl of Grantham;
Let the timid teardrops dew
All our loyal eyes of blue;
Let us guess the nation's ullage
Now thy witches brew's in Dulwich.

Hear these valedict'ry verses
As the heinous line of hearses
Travels o'er the shirtless shirkers
Piled in Piccadilly Circus:
Helpless now the national helm,
Rudderless our rancid realm.

O Margaret, how cruel's fate
To see thee in dismantled state;
Eleven years - o! such bereavement's
Made us tot up thy achievements.
And now thy regal reign is done,
I cannot fucking think of one.

From Rime Present