My life's so empty.

I's got wellies, can you see?
There are no nicer boots than these,
"Splish splosh" I go in rain and snow...
I's got wellies, don'tchaknow.

Ideal State? Ideal Heap of Pants More Like.

Plato, Plato, baked potato,
Tell me of your ideal state-o,
Everyone in every 'hood,
Toiling for the common good.

Plato, Plato, baked potato,
Class determined just by fate-o,
Guardians are trained to rule,
Producers faff about with tools.

Plato, Plato, baked potato,
Soldiers get their choice of mate-o,
Babies taken from their mother,
Everyone's eachother's brother.

Plato, Plato, baked potato,
Tell me of your ideal state-o,
You might think it's just and well,
But to me it looks like Hell.
You might think you've found the virtues,
But it just makes me want to hurt you.

If I weren't so confined by poetical strictures,
My words could paint the most wonderful pictures,
But stuck as I am inside rhythm and metre,
The picture's made worse but the verse is made neater.