I feel now we have no-one fit to rule

I  admit we ‘ve no-one fit to rule
They do not understand  the   dreads   of those who’re  poor
The offices of state are filled by fools

By whom  is Boris Johnson  considered cool?
They must build a House for the Impure.
I feel sad, we’ve no-one fit to rule

Satan  flaps his wings ,he heats his fuel
We have always sinned, but now it’s clear
In offices of state,  pride incites fools

In the Poor House, rationed is their gruel
The TV’s dead,  the people, lost. endure.
They must know we ‘ve no-one fit to rule.

Experts  out, then WhatsApp makes the rules.
Full stops   mean I hate you, ridicule.
The offices of state, why praise  the fools?

Fast dark demons enter ,still allured
By  thinnesses of  soul  in men of powet
I feel ashamed we’ve no-one fit to rule
Boris   with his tantrums ridicules