It brings its fever
And makes men prisoners to capitalism
And women slaves to the produce of capitalism;
It makes homelessness an issue
And food in excess and disregarded.
London, graceful London,
It makes laughter suspect
And dreams walkable.
It makes men to dare
And women to damn.
London, beautiful London,
It banishes fear
And makes hopes fragile.
It makes principle a rare pursuit,
Pride and arrogance a fetish worship.
It is called London,
It makes love
Come with a price;
A price so high and far-reaching.
It brings with her fear,
A hidden sorrow
And plastered pains,
And makes people doubt their cares.
Yet men and women
Are always in pursuit of you, London,
How beautiful and tempting you are
With the multi-colouration of your valour.
The land of sometimes green, fresh lawn
And sometimes brown, dead lawn
Where her produce
Are afraid to love
Because ‘love’ does not pay the bills
As everything is queer.
It is London,
Oh, dear London,
And ever shall it be London!
Where there is neither old
Nor young; where equality is abused disrespectfully.
Only for the bold
The brave and the willingness to dare
Without the fear of damnation.