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A dream was born in youthful halls,
Where red ideals adorned the walls.
A vision glowed, a purpose clear,
A Socialist path – drew ever near.
The Brown Crusader raised his eye,
To seek the Holy Grail’s disguise.
Yet first a warrior he must find,
A willing pawn, a man guilt-blind.
The Blair Warrior charged ahead,
Through smoke and fire, the foes lay dead.
While Brown stood back with a steady hand,
To seize the riches of the land.
The treasury fell to his embrace,
A chubby hand, a calculating face.
Illusions painted – gold – and bright,
Concealed the gambler in the night.
The people feasted, blind to cost,
On borrowed wealth that soon was lost.
Credit free, the carrot dangled,
But dreams of plenty turned entangled.
The warrior’s cry:
“The only way’s up!”
Yet poison brewed in the nation’s cup.
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Businesses staggered, burdened, taxed,
While coffers emptied, over-maxed.
A decade passed; the mask still worn,
The fabric of Britain – tattered, – torn.
The Blair Warrior cast aside,
Rewarded still, though truth denied.
At last the Crusader’s moment came,
To thrust the sword, to stake his claim.
And at his side, with smile beguiling,
Appeared his Juliet – Dear Darling.
Together they plunged, both hand in hand,
The fatal wound into the land.
And onward marched with eyes of flame,
To greet their Masters, praise their name.
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…. Catch Ya Later ……..
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