Rosher.Net

I’m at best a rubbish poet, but sometimes it overflows the bin of my brain and falls into the ether. Like it did today, just in time for NPD and just after the Tory Party Conference revealed checks for foreigners in your workplace, aligned with school census day asking the same questions about your children. Don’t even start me about Fracking – that might have to be another post altogether – but there could possibly be a coherent story building here, last heard perhaps eighty or so years ago. So, to the meat… there’s something gentle and lovely in a waltz, and you probably wouldn’t see jackboots doing it…

The music is changing
The melody harsher
There’s no sense of danger
Portents of disaster
And yet as the rhythm
Trips over from dancing
From three step to two step
We’re suddenly marching
Marching, marching
forward, people,
All together
Left foot right foot
Smell of leather
Close the borders
Check your neighbours
Point out folk
With odd behaviours
In our Tory heart is UKIP
Now you’re marching
to our goose step