Modern Millie, passing fair
With her rainbow tinted hair
Cemented in a crest of spikes,
In tattered clothes, on motorbikes,
Comes calling to an odd refrain,
A wailing beat that's laced with pain
And speaks of ancient discontent,
Of chaos when the veil is rent.
More lady-fingers in the mix
For Man has lost the needed grace,
Appears with egg upon his face,
And wrings his hands, and wets his trews,
And weeps all through the Evening News,
But basks in dolce far niente
So WELCOME, el Vice-Presidente!