Brexit sans Frontier

Hush the crowd, as the dream falls on its sword

Ajax and Odesius a price for the armor is sought.

England oh my England, for truth it should be said,

Under the cross of St George this battle is fed,

Never on the field of dreams have so few shattered so many,

For out goes the cry for justice and freedom,

which my boy costs a pretty penny.

Democracy our cry, the unelected elite,

Whilst the toothless Lords of Albion their courage, oh so fleet,

So summon now the heart of oak, bless jolly tars with good wishes,

For the politicians have no loafs left, so god save the fishes.

And at the breaking of the dawn,

from slumber the nation it will wake,

For irony from across the sea,

indeed the news was fake.

So from the left or from the right,

ideologies convergent in intent

Common folk across the land,

rush towards diaspora hell bent,

So as the year lies dying, red lines hold, and laws are bent.

For the no deal arrangement, in a cover of blue,

from France and Poland is sent.