I’ve been staring and staring at Nigel Farage.
I thought it would cure me, and make me vote Labour;
But soon I was knitting like Madame Defarge,
And I’m well on the way to deporting my neighbour.
I’ve been trying all night to be near Russell Brand.
That way I could make sure the ballots were working;
But soon I was preening and whining, unplanned,
With some second-year, second-hand platitudes perking.
I tried to stay warm in Nick’s fabulous aura –
That way I could lie in the highway, the middle;
But soon I was mixing up richer and poorer –
I love an enigma wrapped up in a riddle.
I’ve spent a whole month staring Dave in the eyeballs.
I thought it make me come round to the cuts;
But soon, with my Giant Society bibles,
I’m doing the rounds now. What time do you shut?
Read a Telegraph article here.