The Ayes aren’t Right.

In the Houses of Parliament, across the pond,

The filibuster has been spawned,

A tool used by the cunning and the bold,

To prevent laws from being bought and sold.

It starts with a member, who takes the floor,

And begins to speak, and speak some more,

Their words flow out, like a mighty stream,

As they delay, and delay, and delay the scheme.

They’ll read from books and ancient scrolls,

And tell tales of the ghosts that haunt the halls,

They’ll talk of cricket, and tea, and rain,

Anything to keep the process in chains.

The point’s not to pass a bill that’s sound,

But to keep the opposition from gaining ground,

To slow down the process, and buy more time,

To ensure their voice is heard above the rhyme.

It’s not a new tactic, oh no,

It’s been used since the days of yore,

By members with cunning, and wit, and guile,

To protect their interests and ensure their smile.

Some say it’s a tool for the strong and the few,

That it silences the voices of the many, it’s true,

But others argue, it’s a right that’s earned,

To prevent laws from being swiftly churned.

And so the filibuster continues on,

A controversial tool, but not yet gone,

A symbol of democracy’s untidy ways,

And a reminder that debate is what pays