By Angus Rogers
The pasty folk cried "King and Country"
Spat a bland hate from the borders of Albion
Writhed and slithered 'til all and sundry
Turned, and heard, and pulled another bland face on
"Colour Brittania with love?" they hiss,
"'Tis not our choice, or want, but yet -
We'll colour our tongues with wrath such as this
And strangers, whether dangers, shall be unduly met"
But up from the blue, and down from the sky,
Came a tide of colour, courage and sound;
The pasty folk, they all but died
Shed their skins, went deep underground.
King and Country opened their arms,
The snow-face of Dover welcomed the sea
Albion, so suddenly warm,
became a place all men were as we.