Two nations astride,
It are some coastal strokes they yearn for,
beachheads of evil,
a pathway to the underbelly of a nation.
for kings foolishly drive themselves
a wig between the faithful.
Obeying some dark recesses of their soul,
we pay and toil,
for it’s not the slavish peasant alone,
who is disrespected.
The battle is lost,
yet they feast,
at what cost?