(Or what if Paul Simon wrote about an average British council)

Council, come they will
When bins are full and overflow the drain
May, be today
Could we see our streets again
Soon, grass will be hewn
In pointless talks they’ll go out on strike

Why, we all sigh
We had no warning of our plight
Disgust, end of trust
The rising bills over our heads they hold
Remember, we surrender
Hope was new, but has all been foretold

(alternative lyrics by Louise Pull)