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It now became the age of iron,
when the jester became the king,
and we sold the farm for fool’s gold.
When the hurdy-gurdy man got paid,
to sing a song without a rhyme;
while we threw away the fruit,
and instead preferred the rind.
As for the nation – well, ducky,
never mind, we’ll soon be bold,
reclaiming what was ours by right:
recouping our lost fortunes of old.
But then we’ll find – that the clock lied,
and the calendar went out with the tide.
So, God help us – its time to move on,
For better or worse – its 2021. 

        
 © D G Moody 2021, 2023