The Reform Challenge

A characteristically grave emphasis there On responsibility under pressure On the burden of inheritance And on the enduring obligations of government In more demanding times Though some may feel the register has altered The underlying themes of order, continuity, and national stewardship Remain, one imagines, central to the party's intended appeal Others, however, have taken a rather less charitable view You hear experience We hear a wheel that doesn't turn You hear the burden of office We hear the office dragged behind it You had the keys, the maps, the gates The papers and the warning labels You had fourteen years to mean a word And still you spoke in folded cables A country asked for line and law You gave it slogans, leaks, and theatre Then rolled the wreckage through the dark And called the scraping sound "grown-up" later That is not weight That is not care That is a dead thing hauled as if it's still a chair That is not duty That is not nerve That is a broken cart demanding we preserve Stop calling that control Stop calling that a plan Stop dressing up collapse And asking us to clap because it can That is not order That is drag That is a wheel that learned to beg You had your years You had your say And all you left was squeak and delay You used the language of the house The measured pause, the nod, the briefing But every promise hit the floor And every border turned to meaning You talked of numbers, calm, and care While everyone could see the crossing Then stared at us for saying plain What all your softer words were costing You call it prudence You call it strain You call it history in the rain We call it fear We call it rot We call it one more warning shot You had the wheel You had the gate You had the chance to mean the state Stop calling that control Stop calling that a line You lost the door You lost the room You lost the nerve to draw the sign That is not order That is drag A country tied behind a flag You had your years You had your turn Now hear the thing you made us learn Queue means queue A line means line A threshold is not there to decorate decline A rule that bends for everyone Is just a rule that disappeared A state that fears to name a fact Will speak in whispers till it's feared You want the old voice The old tie The old hand resting on the file The old machine with one bad wheel Still shrieking through another mile No Let metal be metal Let wreckage be wreckage Let the public hear friction and call it by its name Stop calling that control Stop calling that a choice The carriage broke The wheel gave out And still you asked us for a voice That is not order That is drag That is a party in a bag You had your years You had your chance Now get the dead weight out of the dance You hear the squeak We hear the lie And we are done pretending why