Requiem For The NHS

The Tories,

And the quacks,

Hated Nye Bevan,

But he created,

The NHS,

For everyone,

Rich or poor,

And Free,

At the point,

Of delivery

Now the NHS,

Beloved by the nation,

Has reached its,

Final destination,

Pensioned off,

At 65,

Privatised,

Under the guise,

Of contracting out,

Cut to pieces,

All the parts,

The entrails too,

Disembowelled,

And devoured,

By the insatiable greed,

Needed to feed,

The financial contagion,

Of Banks,

Investment banks,

Merchant banks

Shadow banks,

Hedge funds,

Vulture funds,

And the whole stinking edifice,

That is PFI.

The Private Finance Initiative.

 Soon this will be,

Cast in stone,

For the new,

EU/US free trade treaty,

Legalises financial liberalisation,

And regulatory harmonisation,

Which in simple parlance,

Means the tax avoiding,

Bonus addicted,

Psychopaths,

Can legally plunder,

And wreck asunder,

The NHS,

For billions,

Each and every year.

The Labour Party,

The New Labour Party,

Is like the Tories.

Part of the political class,

The elite,

The establishment

That Bevan would,

Never have recognised,

He would have found it,

Surreal and absurd

And in Shelly’s words,

Ye are many,

They are few,

And it is time the 99%,

Withdrew their consent,

And say enough

Is enough,

And if Bevan was alive today,

He urge us all,

To stand up,

And fight,

To save the NHS.

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