The Iron Lady Rusts

"The Iron Lady Rusts" By Marcus Cooke

Are eyes open wide  
for the first time  
in time.  
Tory backbenchers  
cry as they dine.  
the sweat on there back  
becomes toxic and black.  
The blood on there hands  
drowns there sins as they cusp  
All On the day as  
the iron lady rusts.  
 
Clandestine meetings  
the parliaments recalled  
the nation stands ready  
with there faces appealed  
10 million Quid  
For a funeral for a fascist  
She kicked the bucket  
Yet the tax payer pays  
for a gold plated casket?  
The nation stands ready  
its collective mouth tuts  
All on the day the  
Iron lady rusts.  
 
The country held tight  
in her iron grasped hand  
The Falklands lies crippled  
Through valleys of  
Radioactive sand.  
She killed the unions  
the miners  
the jobs  
Now the country's ruled over  
by upper class snobs.  
The pain removed  
From our side's  
the proverbial thorn.  
We are meant to submit  
And ordered to morn.  
Are terms of surrender  
were never discussed  
As we watch in awe as  
The iron lady rusts.