Category: picket
Rough music for her passing
Ran Tan Tan
Ran Tan Tan
I will bang my pots and pans
on Ludgate Hill,
by Bridie’s Well,
the day she makes her trip to Hell.
Flag-covered gun carriage
crosses cobbles, carries
She who
hobbled a nation.
The Fleet’s the Styx,
the streets the bones,
feet kick up stones.
Backs are turned away from
a lady not for turning,
remembering is not mourning.
Ran Tan Tan
Ran Tan Tan
I will bang my pots and pans
on Ludgate Hill,
by Bridie’s Well,
the day she makes her trip to Hell.