Put your armbands on, for this is the new Jerusalem was never Jerusalem at all. Put your armbands on for this new Jerusalem I know your ties are your own but England, my England? There’s no such place. These podiums yearly crash orchestra pits as a French kiss on the lips of your family in this green and pleasant land. Patriot fits firing forward like ribbons or flags forgetting the fact that these scribbling aren’t eulogy, in this green and pleasant land. Hurrah! Hurrah! It’s the last night of the proms.