the midnight party

In Shoreditch the ghosts are marching in front of the old cathedral

the horses are dressed in white ready for the crusaders.

It is the tradition to pay in silver and kiss the king in times of war

vases are needed to take away the rich bounty.

I wish the dark and sticky trophy would cover Smith’s army

and the profit fulfil the desires of the capitalist dream.

The Baroness is happy in her golden sarcophagus

while her consort goes around town looking for sainthood.

Tonight she is smiling down the stairs of the seat of power

so I will dedicate to her one of the sonnets

of my friend Shakespeare.

The one he liked to recite to the sorcerers at the hour of darkness.

Well if you say so.

Do not forget that it’s also for her Anglo Saxon generals.

Under the naked peach tree the sorcerers dance for the bag

with the golden coins.

He, the joker of the eternal smile, fills his tall hat with stars

from the fig tree.

Don’t tell me, we know he is the thief

who stole the yellow pumpkin from my window.

The face

looks from the same window where I like to drink my whisky.

Just a long goodbye before the midnight party

I need for tomorrow’s memories. But I’m sorry to tell you,

he is still like a cold fish.

He was killed just before the dinner party

when they planted a candle in his heart and his glittering eyes

lit up with fire.

He smiles, what a glorious smile! A yellow smile with cash

for the shareholders and their guests.

Dear friend, dress normally and don’t forget the witches,

the broom is waiting for you. At midnight the bankers will pay

the interest, and don’t forget

you have to pay for every penny they give for tonight’s party.