Here at Chilcot, we work to a very simple plan To keep the English people as toasty as we can It’s an ancient technology, brought on the long boats When the Vikings invaded, in their pink duffel coats With their snuggly pillows and fluffy eiderdowns We became so warm to dream, and soothe our Saxon frowns If we leave one sorrow writ upon History’s final page ‘Twill be that duvets were unknown till after the Ice Age We let the dinosaurs take power, ceded them the light While we huddled in our caves, too freezin’ cold to fight You’ve got me started now, on my high pet hobby horse I should be in the here and now, not reminiscing with the Norse We’re in the twenty tens now, the Chilcot clan is keen We have a new appointment from Her Majesty the Queen To keep our leaders cosy, this is our commission To cover their arses in the chill wind of rendition Special thinking was required, and specialist advice For duck and goose and derry down no longer would suffice To heat the blood of Englishmen with murderous chilblains And frozen hearts, and madness and slush throughout their veins And Chilcot made a duvet, and according to the logs We soon achieved a factor of seven million togs By working in secret and total obedience And using the finest human ingredients Our donors are raised in the desert and mountain air Which explains the high quality of the harvest of hair And the skin so elastic, the bonemeal so plump And the flesh so succulent cut from the rump And the blood and saliva we turn into dyes And the buttons and poppers we make out of eyes And zippers constructed from fragments of teeth And pockets excised from dark corners beneath On this urgent mission we send our armed forces To collect these precious human resources In the Afghan passes, on the dunes of Iraq The peasants give their lives for the warmth upon our back They give their wives and children, they give their final breath All for the Chilcot miracle, the duvet of death Round here, people like their music in seventeen four Mostly
© Nick Weldon March 2010