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| The White Cliffs of Dover |
Cotton fluffy clouds
sailing in clear blue skies
English roses blooming
in perfect English gardens.
Perfect English oak trees
rooting to the Magna Carta
in this perfect English village
with its perfect village green.
Connie recall
her night of lust
and smiles drifting into
and smiles drifting into
dreams of Oliver.
Clifford seeks comfort
in the Sunday Telegraph
brooding over affairs of state
and the dark satanic mills
turning to the winds of Europe.
Wrapped in the Union Jack
he hankers for the day
when freedom will come
to his hallowed land again.
At the fete
jealous wives watch with envy
sweet half-virgins of sixteen
run around in skimpy dresses
selling kisses for a shilling,
jolly Morris dancers
are dancing on the green,
stalls are selling fruitcake
and strawberries with cream.
The vicar in his pulpit
seethes with righteous anger
Clifford seeks comfort
in the Sunday Telegraph
brooding over affairs of state
and the dark satanic mills
turning to the winds of Europe.
Wrapped in the Union Jack
he hankers for the day
when freedom will come
to his hallowed land again.
At the fete
jealous wives watch with envy
sweet half-virgins of sixteen
run around in skimpy dresses
selling kisses for a shilling,
jolly Morris dancers
are dancing on the green,
stalls are selling fruitcake
and strawberries with cream.
The vicar in his pulpit
seethes with righteous anger
and like a soul possessed
preaches yet another sermon
to an empty church
and England's heart
will beat for ever
in this perfect village green.
preaches yet another sermon
to an empty church
and England's heart
will beat for ever
in this perfect village green.
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