Legs and butts and snow white feet,
Not the kind of hills you’d see from any West Virginia street,
Looking for Miss England

Thumbs up now and give us a smile,
That’s a side of war that we have not seen in a while,
Looking for Miss England.

Before the Messiah and after the fall,
When they crusaded she answered the call.
Took a lot of orders, took a lot of photographs too,
When people said they didn’t like the view,
They went looking for Miss England.

Open the strongbox labelled “Deranged”,
With two little numbers,
After which you say everything changed.

The plans that you unfold,
So familiar and so old,
Architect unnamed:
Torquemada knew the same.
Sculptures of skin,
To obscure the human form within,
Contracted out of sin:
Our art reveals the state we’re in.

Nothing much has changed,
When they choose who’s goose gets cooking.
The blame is rearranged,
And the top brass send us looking,
For Miss England.