It vexes like an itching eye: what’s next,
What future is foretold in teacups’ dregs?
But prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
A second wave, harbingered by dark stars;
Boris Johnson loses all his hair;
Howls all night, as if nailed to a cross;
Matt Hancock’s in a care home in a pool of his own piss.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
A third wave comes, and then a solar flare;
It fries the Internet, and yet before
Self-righteousness pours forth by telegram
At twelve dollars a word the mob gives up and all is calm.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
Zuckerberg’s convicted in The Hague;
Putin, Xi and Trump, all in a cage;
Without the crooks and nuts The State’s all done;
(After the Crass yet brief Dictatorship of Owen Jones).
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
Fourth and fifth waves; unharvested crops;
Debts stay unpaid and soon the banks collapse;
Worldwide Debt Jubilees follow thereafter
With the new Crofting Economy and Universal Barter.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
Six, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh waves;
A Peace Conference with the Virus is convened;
Our reparations? We must now behave
And, as in Narnia, statues of good people come alive.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy:
The present locks our hopes in sequestration;
The future muffles all echo-location;
Yet still the past compels our souls to hanker
So push on blindly into Time: it’s there for us to conquer.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These are the things I choose to prophesy.
All prophets simply second guess the scythe;
These things can be woven in; they’ll happen by and by.