To warn that summer's coming
And rattles on the skylights
A syncopated drumming
As glistening in the gutters
The hailstones fuse together
The Devil's own confetti
At the marriage of the weather.
The sixth of May approaches
And the politicians wait
While the dog of devolution
Gnaws the ancient bones of state
As a ghostly Roman soldier
Who is haunting Hadrian's Wall
On a wet and windy evening
Hears a Pictish warrior call:
"So Gordon Brown has done it
Stemmed SNP advances
But six Scots in the Cabinet?
He couldn't take the chances
Though miracles allowing
If Labour seats should fall
The way the mood's been lately
We might rebuild yon wall."
"A good idea," the Roman said
"With rising tax no doubt
You'd need to keep your people in
More than to keep us out."
With dentists on the NHS
More rare than dung of rocking-horse
Britannia's teeth are in a mess
No prize for guessing why of course
Or when it was the rot set in
Or who was in the driver's seat
And sacrificed free dental care
To boast a better balance sheet.
But nice to hear Rab Butler's thoughts
Endorsed, if not exhumed, of late
As Peter Lilley praised in speech
The virtues of the welfare state
And pledge of funds to keep it safe
For people of the poorer sort.
Let's have a clack of blackened teeth
And demonstrate our full support:
So fiddle on, Dave Swarbrick
Though poorly, not deceased
Who found his own obituary
Was premature at least.
But most musicians know this
Although it goes unsaid:
Miss two nights in the taproom
Your mates all think you're dead.