I live in a country where, for example:

•	A new “animal welfare” bill will ensure that around 100 million sentient animals each year will suffer extreme, prolonged trauma and pain as they are slaughtered without having first been stunned.  This is in order to respect minority religious beliefs.
•	Male convicted child abusers and rapists who decide to “identify as a woman” have the right to serve their sentences in women-only prisons so that their rights are not compromised.
•	The desperate, hysterical craving for universal “equality” manifests itself in obscene levels of positive discrimination to deliver race / gender etc "quotas".
•	Ransoms of hundreds of millions of pounds are paid to crass despotic theocracies to release hostages – money that will fund the development of nuclear programmes that those state-agents of god intend to deploy for the obliteration of neighbouring countries and their cultures.
•	A high ranking female politician declines the invitation to define what a woman is, for fear of “being dragged down a rabbit hole”.
•	Police and local government services turn a blind eye to industrial scale sexual abuse of vulnerable young girls to avoid stirring racial tensions.
•	It is decreed that if we can’t buy our oil from a thief we may as well buy it from a murderer as pumping our own plentiful supplies locally may offend environmentalists.
•	Ad infinitum.

The country I live in used to be called England.

Last night I read her the last rights, sang her this little poem I made up for her and cradled her as she slipped fitfully away.

I didn’t bother to mark the grave.
___________________________________________________________________

The Cold Blooded Murder Of Albion

Whisper, sweet love,
Did you feel any hurt,
As they hacked at your heart
With their blunt knives of dirt?
Love of my life!
Did you feel any pain?
As they raised up their rocks
To stone your brain.

The true paragon of fair
Balanced and just.
Slain by dogmas of air
Lunatic liberal lust.
I’ll lullaby your dead heart
That pulmonary shocks can’t restart
We’re history consigned,
To bedlam resigned.
But I’d rather rot dead
Than wake in a contemporary bed
Of moral principle smoothies
In a world that eschews me.
Hush, don’t make a fuss, there’s no need to discuss
Spinning whirlpools of statuesque dust
All relics of pride, I’ve laid delicately aside
In simple disgust.

The Cold Blooded Murder Of Albion

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