Upon Sterling's sea, a tempest rose,
As Loki's whispers crept in foes,
Inflation's tide of numbers waned,
Yet interest harken'd unto gains.

Then blackened clouds sail o'er the oil,
Upon fierce waves where trade doth boil,
A twisted path where signals mixed,
In Europe's grasp, a tempest fix'd.

Of Euro bonds, far-reaching bough,
On Gilt yields gripped by upheaval's plow,
With voracious maw, now UK consumes,
As Fates with debts thus seal our dooms.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur