The Arctic's melting, and storms more frequent
So higher sea levels and heavier rain
Assault these precious islands nature lent
But seems to be taking away again
A nation of King Canutes stands in vain
Waving away the rising tides of doom
We can't all live on hills, desert the plain
We can't all build an ark, can't find the room
To park on Ararat, so I assume
The high ground is where the smart money's spent
The cock is crowing and the weather vane
Is spinning madly while the church's tune
Distorted by its hatred of the bent
Is joined by Neroic fiddle-playing
Thur 11 Sep 2008
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