“THIS POEM IS ABOUT A MYTHICAL LAND CALLED DAFTLAND... IT HAS RUNG A FEW BELLS WITH ME.
We live in a country called Daftland
The England we knew is no more
Where sensible people do ludicrous things
Or risk breaking some Daftland law.
In Daftland we've police dogs with muzzles
Less the villain has cause to complain
And to steal from a shop and say 'sorry'
Means your free with no stain to your name.
You had better leave lights on in buildings
When you lock up and go home at night
'cause the burglars might hurt themselves entering
And there's no way you'll be in the right.
When speaking be wary in Daftland
As some terms that you've used all your life
Now have connotations unintended
And you'll end up in all sorts of strife.
We elect politicians in Daftland
To give us the laws of the land
Yet eight laws in ten now come from abroad
The whole thing has got out of hand.
The borders are open in Daftland
And of migrants there's no keeping track
Just a few of the thousands illegally here
Will ever be caught and sent back.
The exception to this is the hero
Who fought for this land in the war
He's old and he's sick, he might cost us a bit
So he's not welcome here any more.
When the history is written of Daftland
Historians may just recall
That the craziest people in Daftland
Were the public who put up with it all.
THE QUESTION BEING CAN ANYTHING BE DONE OR IS IT TOO LATE ALREADY?”
Something about your area!