Like blind sheep you followed her,
Down Downing Street with beaming smiles.
Year after year devotedly,
Pats on the back for you and me.

Boundless wealth, prosperity,
While all around was poverty.
Turned other cheeks consistently,
While happiness abounds.

But now the tables are turned.
Back stabbing, back stabbing.

The mortgage rate in such a state,
The bills I pay envelop me,
The fears of life, more fear than death,
Unhappiness surrounds.

You tricked me dear, exploited fears,
That wealth should be stacked high.
And now I starve in luxury,
Delightful, decadent poverty.

It makes me laugh.

And now the tables are turned.
Back stabbing, back stabbing.

© Edward ian Armchair 2002