“Pull yourselves up by the bootstraps,” they would always say. “We, Thatcher’s sprites have done alright”
With the best of intentions we were meant to swallow that line,
A line they spat at you and me without a hint of irony.
“There is no magic money tree,” they would always say. “We Thatcher’s protege have done OK.”
From the cramped decrepitude of the rentier-classes homes for us we were meant to swallow that line,
One out of every three without a hint of irony.
“We can’t rehome you were your livelihoods were built,” they would always say. “We Thatchers benefactors have painted you as cheats and actors”
From the spectre of Grenfell on the hearts of those who will never forget and ‘Winter Crisis’ as an understated epithet we have to swallow these lines .
While Oligarchs use empty homes for laundry without a hint of irony.
“Because you are lukewarm, I shall spit you out of my mouth”