...with stray fag ends and bottle tops and the ash of smoked cigarettes the ash.
The little boy blue blew his horn and cows in the meadow munched on cron, outside the 20ft razor wire fence the starving mulitudes pushed forward, lacerating themselves on wore in the desire to enter the world of little boy blue.
His land was the last vestige of whatever had been green and pleasant, the perfect country idyll. Now he was its prisoner but for reason everyone wanted to visit.
Fuck them said little boy blue...