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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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