by The Grey Prince

O what have we become,
God of grace divine,
When children on computers,
In simulation, yearn for the mines?

O what have we become?
From the Lord’s path we stray,
The shops once fifteen miles,
Now fifteen minutes away.

O what have we become,
Blessed holy Lamb of God?
The sky is far too clear;
I miss the warming smog.

O what have we become,
These policies considered votable,
My tasty, tainted water,
Now a harsh, bitter potable?

O what have we become?
From the Lord’s path we stray.
I lament productive, pleasant pastures.
Bring back those skies of grey!

Bring me my bow of liquidated gold!
My arrows of desire!
A spear of righteousness!
That chariot of carbon fuelled fire!

I will never end my mental fight
Against that ceaseless mob of woke
Twitter fingers at the ready,
Against Mother Nature’s folk.

Upon this hill Jerusalem,
My neo-liberal labour,
A trinity of Hayek, Reagan, Thatcher
Shall bestow divine favour!

I lament upon my ceramic throne:
O what have we become?
Those green and pleasant parking lots
Are all but said and gone.