Margaret on the Guillotine

Alsof het nog niet erg genoeg is wat ze hun land en indirect ook de rest van de wereld hebben aangedaan, eindig(d)en zowel Ronald Reagan als nu Margaret Thatcher very conveniently in geheugenverlies. Er is/was in hun geval dan ook heel veel te vergeten. Om haar er even aan te herinneren, hieronder even Matt Johnsons schitterende tekst over wat ze met haar eigen land heeft gedaan, iets wat de walgelijke Tony Blair zonder een spatje spijt gewoon ook nog eens verderzet.

Beneath the old iron bridges, across the victorian parks,
And all the frightened people running home before dark,
Past the saturday morning cinema
That lies crumbling to the ground,
And the piss stinking shopping centre in the new side of town.
I’ve come to smell the seasons change, and watch the city,
As the sun goes down again.

Here comes another winter, of long shadows and high hopes,
Here comes another winter, waitin' for utopia,
Waitin for hell to freeze over.

This is the land, where nothing changes,
The land of red buses & blue blooded babies,
This is the place, where pensioners are raped,
And the hearts are being cut, from the welfare state,
Let the poor drink the milk, while the rich eat the honey,
Let the bums count their blessings, while they count the money.

So many people, can’t express what’s on their minds,
Nobody knows them and nobody ever will,
Until their backs are broken and their dreams are stolen,
And they can’t get what they want, then they’re gonna get angry!
Well it ain’t written in the papers, but it’s written on the walls
The way this country is divided to fall,
So the cranes are moving on the skyline
Trying to knock down - this town
But the stains on the heartland, can never be removed,
From this country, that’s sick, sad, and confused.

Here comes another winter, of long shadows and high hopes,
Here comes another winter, waitin for utopia,
Waitin for hell to freeze over.

The ammunition’s being passed, and the lords been praised,
But the wars on the televisions will never be explained,
All the bankers gettin' sweaty, beneath their white collars,
As the pound in our pocket, turns into a dollar.

This is the 51st state - of the U. S. A.

(The The - 'Heartland', van het overigens geheel geniale en zeer aan te raden Infected)