Extolling the great
Protest poetry is a waste of time
He is a victim of the lion
And the man in the middle
A poet who write nationalistic poems
Will be extolled by the elite
He might even get an income never be free
To write what he wants
Less they take his money back
Call him a traitor and he have to take the bus home
Reduced to reading his poem in draughty rooms
To an audience of innocent lambs
How have dreams of greatness?
But he will get tea and scones
The lion doesn`t roar; it is made of stone
And decorates the entrance of the elite.