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The Ministry of Misanthropy

Miserable men

Bow your heads in shame

Let guilt of a thousand years be your name

Foul-smelling offspring

Of a winter's freeze

Satisfy your smugness, down on your knees

Crawl even lower

Then the sons of snakes

Crawl from the chaos you've left in your wake

Slither silently,

Without audible sound

Slither silently as you go to ground

Ebb quickly

As an ocean's tide

Pluck your piercing thorn from this world's side

Gasp as you inhale

Your concluding breath

Then grasp the hand of the Angel of death.

Our intervention sought?

Cocky Misanthrope

We'd help, courtesy of a hangman's rope

Empathy needed

In elected posts

Especially those that Number Ten hosts

Time to say goodbye

Now, Boris Johnson

It's been a blast, but now it's your swan song

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