Empty like the Whimsical Projector’s boasts?
Climb inside. See? I’m filled with the hopes of a nation, ferocious
underdog pride, dreams of independence, bought for £5 and £5 and £5
eked out by the battle-scarred, the wind-blistered and the
work-weary poor. I overflow with patriotism – and greed.
Admire my mechanism, intricate as
betrayal.
Cast iron, like his promises, I stink of
blood.