Curse of the English

Echoes of empire, now distilled into the cup of tea philosophy
Just above the dregs lies the essence tinged with faded glory
With much promise to come
But too much already lost.
Now cast into a repressive iron coat
in order to keep the bestial emotion contained
and so, from fear of emotion is born the stone-people
Haunted by the fiery flair and dreams of the coal driven age.
Yet some things still remain amongst the ashes of time:
Politeness, patience, humility, honour, respect
all fortunately passed down by one opressive relation or another
And all viewed as eccentricity by outsiders.
Neither villain or hero, now the angels and demons have gone
But the Cursed
and some still drink tea under stiff upper lips.