Asleep on a pallet and we let Lords leap on by and while the hungry men starve we watch as they die.

The old year will pass into recency, oh the indecency of history is such a lying pig and while the pig's at the trough tickling its snout there is the poor man with nowt.

But you should have seen twenty fifteen,
what a year it was
what a year it could have been.

Refugees were refugeeing and on the sidelines refereeing were the stupid and dumb, the pig ignorant numb and
the banking system, as usual, stank while the rank and file, as usual, accepted it.

Asleep on a pallet slightly raised off the ground
opens his eyes to the wearying sound of
the new year,
the old fear,
twenty sixteen and halfway between
here and somewhere
he'd rather be.