VISITORS arriving in the UK could be ordered to isolate in hotels under plans to reduce the transmission of new coronavirus variants from abroad. So, with apologies to the Eagles …
In a dark empty airport
Through the exit I stare
Warm smell of fresh hand gel
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
On top of a police van
That whisked me off through the night.
Matt Hancock stood in reception
‘Follow me!’ came his yell
And I was thinkin’ to myself
‘Two weeks in this place won’t be heaven, it’ll be hell.’
Hancock lit up a candle
And he showed me the way
There were voices from behind each door
I thought I heard them say:
‘Welcome to the Hotel Quarantinia
Such an ugly place (such an ugly place)
Such an ugly face
Plenty of room at the Hotel Quarantinia
It’ll cost you dear
(And they don’t serve beer).’
Hancock’s mind is lockdown-twisted
He wavers and bends
He got a lot of dotty, dotty Profs
He calls friends
How they prance for the cameras
Waving their charts
They can’t tell their R-rate from their elbows
The stupid old farts
So I called up Boris Johnson:
‘Please rescind my confine.’
He said: ‘Shut up or we’ll keep you here
Till twenty twenty-nine.’
And still those voices are calling from the Corona Suite
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them bleat:
‘Welcome to the Hotel Quarantinia
Such an ugly place (such an ugly place)
Such an ugly face
They’re makin’ things up at the Hotel Quarantinia
They tell loads of lies
But they’ll have alibis.
Economy down the plughole
Normal life on hold
Bojo said: ‘We are all just prisoners here of what we’ve been told.’
And in the PM’s chambers
They gather and they shrug
They stab it with their hypoderms
But they just can’t kill the bug
Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had served my two weeks
And I could stand no more
‘Relax,’ said Nightman Whitty
‘This you may not believe
But we’ve tightened up the rules again
And you can never leave.’
