Within a vault of fiscal gloom, where shadows weave a nation’s doom,
I sat, with tomes of ruin spread, to mourn the dreams now cold and dead.
Unemployment, grim and climbing—4.7 percent, no silver lining—
1.67 million souls adrift, their hopes in twilight’s dread.
Inflation’s raven, fierce and bold, at 3.6 percent, its talons cold,
Pecks at purses, frail and torn, as prices climb unchecked.
Woe, woe, the coin’s despair! No Labour balm shall soothe the air.
In spring, a growth so faint and fleeting—0.7 percent, hearts briefly beating—
Yet May’s chill breath, a cruel descent, saw GDP’s faint wane.
A contraction, small but dire—0.1 percent, no warmth, no fire—
Stagnation’s shroud enwraps the land, a spectre of disdain.
Vacancies, a ghostly host, to 727,000 fade, their promise lost,
As payrolls bleed—178,000 gone—neath Starmer’s faltering reign.
Woe, woe, the coin’s despair! The voters’ trust dissolves in air.
The taxman’s spectre, gaunt and lean, from Reeves’s hand grows ever keen—
Employer levies, NICs ascend, and bus fares leap to £3.50’s pain.
Fees for water, broadband’s sting, and energy’s grim tolls take wing,
Eight hundred shops each day collapse, their shutters locked in vain.
The Autumn Budget’s harsh decree—more taxes loom, no clemency—
Drives dreams to dust, while polls, like leaves, in bitter winds are slain.
Woe, woe, the coin’s despair! No hope endures in Labour’s lair.
Diogenes, with lantern dim, would scorn this farce, this fiscal hymn,
“Where lies your justice now,” he cries, “ye lords of borrowed gold?”
The raven croaks, a mournful knell, for Labour’s hope, now bound for hell,
Its poll numbers, like withered vines, in winter’s grasp grow cold.
The voters, once with Labour swayed, now see their trust in tatters frayed,
Their ballots, like a raven’s wing, a grim rebuke unfold.
Woe, woe, the coin’s despair! The dirge resounds through bleakest air.
Feniks Know Best scribes, what say ye of this economic blight?
Is Labour’s reign a fleeting dream, or nightmare without light?
Weigh in below—quills preferred, despair endured.
Satirical content, not factual reporting.