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