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The forest is right and the trees are wrong.
I don’t need the singing if I have the song.
You don’t want to fight me, but if you must,
Come at me with trees. I’ve got the forest.
Every decision you make has too much information.
If the courts tie you up, you don’t have a nation.
The trees often make the forest uncertain;
India didn’t want to belong to Britain.
And Britain said, “Good! You know, you may be right.”
Then Britain made the Hindus and the Muslims fight.
The British said, “Oh that horrible Shah!
Now here’s Khomeini. Ha ha ha!”
Speak softly, they say, but carry two sticks.
1953 Iran was no American coup.
The oil to lose was Britain’s. That was MI6.
Britannia lacked oil. Uncle Sam did not.
So the Queen put Sam with Muslims in a pot.
The U.S. manufacturing force of the world is here.
Sly Britain whispers in America’s ear.
Black gold comes from Texas. Yet the Queen
Still owns the world, shining and green.
The trees can prove the forest wrong,
But the forest is all we know.
The British Empire still plays the song.
I connected the notes. But the news is slow.
