Are you selling an empty nostalgia to me
An England that never existed at all
A land of milk and honey
Untouched by the corruption of others
A land at peace within itself
Of country lanes and green green hills
And churches centuries old
Are you selling me this lie
If you are then I do not believe you
As even on the fairest day
Foul creatures stalk our streets
They hide behind their ordinariness
Invisible in the plain sight
But they are diseased
And are as foul as the mud
That drowned a generation
Just do not sell your empty lies to me
And do not insult the histories of my line