by Ian Jenkins
Dish out your tawdry, bloodsoaked gongs
Reward your friends for all their wrongs
Hang sigils struck from stolen gold
From those who do just as they’re told.
Wrap criminals in silk and ermine
Make peers and knights of lying vermin
Honour those who turn their hands
To murder and theft in ravaged lands
But throw some plebs an OBE
In the name of fake egality
And as cover for this filthy game
Of honours as a mask for shame.
And when your shabby little list
Is safely grasped in the monarch’s fist
Pray to the darkest gods to bless
Your litany of wickedness.
But year on year the luster fades
Of ersatz honour on parade
And one day all will wonder how
Humanity was made to bow