Cast you to the hoarde

Little tiny precious vote,
underneath my overcoat,
snug and warm against my heart,
you and I will have to part.
I must cast you to the horde,
…With your little wooden sword,
And your hopeful marching song,
Little vote of mine be strong.
Should our happy cause be dashed,
And your wooden sword be smashed,
Come back, dear beloved vote,
Dream inside my overcoat.


Charming, we have to vote tomorrow, what a pathetic election.

I will consider leaving the country if a certain individual ousts the current situation – not that I’m a particularly strong fan of the current situation, infact I dare say my vote will be elsewhere altogether.

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