The pubs are shut – it’s not the guards – and we have no parade
Coronavirus is on the rampage, it has us all afraid,
It will be a month of Sundays, everything closed everywhere
Even the Scrooge publicans for the common people care.
We are all confined to barracks: for some that’s just a room
It feels for a lot like a grave, their own living tomb,
But all’s not bad, pollution’s down, and Greta herself is quiet
This monthly shutdown does some good: maybe every year we should try it.
Well all our drunken sinners who wouldn’t give up the booze for Lent
Must drink the stash they kept at home and with that be content
We will beat this bloody virus, no matter what it takes,
A prayer to St Anthony wouldn’t hurt, to kick it out as he did the snakes!