You're a product of Maggie Thatcher's wet dreams.
You're forever plotting and scheming it seems.
You're a man who knows the price of everything
Yet alas, you know the value of nothing.
Art and culture go over your tiny mind.
You are guided, not by rich symbols, but by
Superficial signs. You are just another rat
In the rat race, and a big, ugly one at that!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem