The Cross

Lying on my hammock, the clouds drifting by;
the Southern Cross hangs in a blue-black sky.
The wonder and beauty is plain to see
as it shines over the land of the free.
I feel some anger mixed in with some shame
we’ve let racist bastards come stake a claim.
This symbol of freedom of which I’m proud
is caste by these scumbags under a cloud.
It’s time to stand up, be proud of The Cross;
if it’s stolen by arseholes that is our loss.
So take back that symbol and hold it with pride
and those thieving scum, in their kennels can hide.

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About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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