A bunting of flags billow above us trimmed in blue.
Below, march mourners for their dead Majesty.
While some folks belabour with the press over her bad news,
and some folks flap in fear of their future, royal free,
those blue flags still act unflappable to all issues.
We triumph at her topple-down her pedestal,
after all, her Majesty never paid her dues.
We taunt her mourners fiercely at the funeral.
As their faces tear up like melted glue,
our faces flush feeling so free, frisky and full.
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