I’m a very unclean despatch box,
fingerprints all around,
all over me is evidence,
that makes a case so sound,
but I can’t bathe; to wash away,
the shame, my second skin,
so, keep your jay cloths out of sight,
I’ve made a friend of sin!
I’m a very worn-out despatch box,
so battered and so bruised,
many hands thumped on me;
for love, but I’m so confused,
if I’m a prize; for elected suit,
my trinket, they should care,
but even for me, no pain, no gain,
my life is so unfair!
I’m a very unsafe despatch box,
not going anyroad,
for human choice, is iron clad,
as change, is wrong I’m told,
for the two of me, that are affixed,
keeps Westminster fed,
so, just like me, keep in your place,
and be the living dead!