As our nation leans back,
On one crooked knee,
And asks one last time, for the country to be set free,
Our quiet soldiers stand clear,
Worried in her plight,
And solemnly carry on to do what is right,
We can no longer live on, in this strangle hold,
Whilst the British government keeps us in the cold,
This is our country, the cry is so shrill,
And when your finished wrecking it, we will send you the bill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem