England
The enemy within the wold of God,
'i've had enough of your infernal creation'he cries,
A smattering of original art,
daubs the walls,
Money hellbent antiques and platicine sheep,
No england, great England,
whose country houses are so dry,
and art collections not appreciated,
he ships them out to the poor,
Oh english ignorance a thing of beauty is a joy forever,
Not a million toy,
A real piece of art holds meaning beyong tears,
And the better the poor who have none,
Cry a little for what he has done.
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