Plinth of Darkness

August 12, 2007

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I had a nightmare the other night, about a monster totally white
Well over two metres in stature
But the thing that scared me more, was the uncanny resemblance it bore
To a real-life monster named Margaret Thatcher

It’s cold, it’s unmoving and it has no heart
So how do we tell Mrs Thatcher and the statue apart?
It had a steely glare an a bag in hand, but they had nowhere for it to stand
Shouldn’t go in the Commons until she’s dead
Although it’s good to kill two birds with one stone, I approve of killing one alone
Taking a cricket bat to Mrs Thatcher’s head

It’s cold, it’s unmoving and it has no heart
So how do we tell Mrs Thatcher and the statue apart?

There was a vacant plinth in Trafalgar Square, we could have put Mrs Thatcher there
So you could see her as you went by on the bus
But you’d have to disguise your glee, if you saw pigeons doing to Mrs T
What Mrs T kept on doing to us

It’s cold, it’s unmoving and it has no heart
So how do we tell Mrs Thatcher and the statue apart?

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