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Here’s to those that bought the lie,
That the work was stolen by the migrants,
Who didn’t even think to bat an eye,
When their automated checkout tills were non-compliant.
Made a circle out of salt on the ground,
Stood inside and said “no one can get me now”,
Whether bursting through the door to gun you down,
Or leaning back with their arms folded while you drown,

Some are holy,
Some profane,
Cuts that kill us slowly,
While we heat up the blade.

While bombs rained down,
Seeds were planted in the ground,
A nation state? A caliphate?
A vicious circle going round and round and round,
From the ruins of Aleppo,
To the gates into the palace of Westminster,
Motivated,
Carbon dated.

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