Ingerland

An ancient land once drenched in blood,

Now has turned itself to mud.

Its murd'rous people once so proud,

Now are merely drunk and loud.

No more do they of glory dream,

Now it's home to the silent scream.

Its muddled people lost their way,

Now they for past mistakes must pay.

Their forebears conquered foreign soil,

Not knowing this would England spoil.

The middle class despise blood kin,

Not seeing they're next for the bin.

Bullshit baffles brains in Britain,

Now this country's quite a shit 'un.

I look round with open eye;

Is this freedom's land I spy?

Is it progress that's been made,

Or is it just a land betrayed?

All those who dream of better times

Are deemed guilty of thought crimes.

A sly and secret power that grows,

A circle whose cup overflows,

Has ground the natives down so low.

"Bullshit baffles brains in Britain" was a popular expression when I first arrived in England 30 years ago. Also popular was: "The bosses treat us like mushrooms; they keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit." These expressions are no longer fashionable, but it is not because things have changed for the better.
This poem came to me while I was lying in bed one morning. I jumped out and scribbled it down. I spent a half hour rearranging the sequence of the lines, to try to inject coherence, and that was it.  Don't ask me what it means. Ambiguity is perhaps inherent in the subject matter. Are the questions in the second verse ironic and rhetorical? I'm not entirely sure.