From time to time, we all catch an earworm. That catchy tune that can drive us mad as it goes around and around our heads for an indeterminate time. Especially if we know the tune but can’t place and/or name it.
I had one recently, but not earworm as we know it. Listening to a political discussion on the radio (I’m not sure exactly what programme), I heard the phrase “dream of Brexit” and, for some reason, the seasonal Greg Lake song “I Believe in Father Christmas” began wriggling. I couldn’t shake it off, all the while wondering if I could adapt the lyrics accordingly.
So I tried. And here it is. With apologies to Greg Lake…
They said there’d be talks by Christmas
They said there’d be cake to eat
Instead they’re pontificating
Deluded dreams that they’ll fail to meet
Do you remember the referendum?
When 52 came from off the fence
They mocked 48,
“Suck it up, ‘cos we’re Great!”
And brayed of their independence.
They sold us a dream of Brexit
They said that we’d all be free
They told us a fairy story
‘til some believed in their sovereignty
And they believed in Farage Christmas
And BoJo and Gove and big red bus lies
We woke with a yawn
That June 24th morn
With sadness and shock and surprise.
I wish you a hopeful Brexit
I wish we could more than fear
This Tory shambles beyond tragic
A government bereft of ideas
But slowly wake to the ways of Brexit
See ‘Kipper untruths going up in smoke
They sold us on trade
But they’re wrong, I’m afraid
We’re no longer ‘Great’, but a joke.