The more I see the new face of the new old Labour Party
I wonder through the veneer of his autocued grimace if it’s all new at all.
The more I see the new face of the new old Labour Party
I wonder through the veneer of his autocued grimace if it’s all new at all.
Our time dims twilight to our birth,
as we forecast a spring never-ending,
our blossom forever in bloom.
We share optimistic lies,
wishing on an unlikely future.
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