Panic
Last winter someone heard a snowflake drop
They were feeling full of anguished dread
So they rushed down to the supermarket
And they bought up fifty loaves of bread
And milk enough to last for thirty days
That emptied all the shelves
Not worrying about anyone else
Just looking out for their selfish selves
And now there’s something in the air
With origins that are rare and vague
There’s infection and contagion
There’s coming pestilence and plague
And suddenly everybody’s short of stock
Of hand-sanitiser and liquid soap
And merely trying to buy toilet rolls
They’re running out of hope
For they fear the bugs and beasties
The things that will make them ill
So they’re stocking up with drugs,
With potions and every kind of pill
They’re hoarding many types of pasta
All across the British Isles
They don’t trust the old supply-chains
They’re busy fighting in the aisles
Wringing hands and ringing tills
Panic-buying, Headless Chicken Syndrome
Soon they’ll be in self-isolation
Siege mentality, and holed-up at home
Locked up and in a total lock-down
No more touching or social contact
Forever washing their hands
The odds against them all are stacked
So we’ve had the forty days of floods
There’s a chance that we’ll all go bust
And now we’ve got this pestilence -
What next? – a swarm of locusts?
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