The Setting of the Sun: Part Three

Behold a land of monarchic decadence as celebrity status of family values eroded in a smorgasbord of half truths and bare-faced lies; what life-model this, one of toe-sucking chequebook journalism, degradation and scandal, contempt for the public. TV vendettas and cellulite thighs. She no longer carries the big stick with which to shake the world’s foundations and bring the dogs to heel on bended knees; now the blue-blood veins have been hacked and severed, blood jets black and turns to dust, led by Uncle Sam with ring through the nose a merry John Bull with spongiform brain disease. In a dying gasp of colonialist logic, and meathead fascist chapters the coda of the empire thug gives free way to remedial apologism in overkill that suicide bombers may rule this day. Come one come all, loot, execute and pillage, we’ll protect your rights to murder and plunder and pay you welfare cheques whilst you do; it’s politically correct that you do what you will no discrimination in this here global village. She is all but a fossilized relic with a makeover mask extremist surrender when all is said and done, and our children inherit a legacy of illusion, of redundant beliefs, nothing left at all for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent the setting of the sun... for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent the setting of the sun.