It’s the end of the world
Glory once more, has passed us by
The country like the beer
Is flat
Metaphoric clouds shield us from the sun
An ill wind blew all our flags away
Three brave lions turned to caricature cuddle toys
Rolling over and playing dead
How it hurt to hear that Teutonic roar
This shambles was a long time coming
There could be no escape
St George’s cross was omnipresent
We had no choice but to believe the hype
England expected
There was pride before the fall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem