The tramps of the old England
The diamonds of Sierra Leone, the jungles lost in em
The tremble of the thimble of wattles, in this barren desert
Ottoman Empire quit Cold Turkey, the racks told me I could slice in
The majesty's service looked like it would rise with the sun
Bleeding like London sky, the rain always came
Too bad, the rain never Brexits, intending to leave, but, now the Sun will never come out