You should read that first. It's here.
An old, sad, bored, ignored, and dying Queen,
A Parliament that rules when it should serve.
The bankers – cankers of their race – convene
And buy those laws which will, perforce, preserve
The status quo, and bonuses obscene.
Religion claims respect it won’t deserve
And can’t deserve – despite its hollow fame –
When scandal, strife, and greed its face begrimes.
A Fourth Estate of bigotry and shame,
Complicit with Police. Yet the crimes
Of tyrants who, with shameless smile, proclaim
That we, the people, must share cost and blame,
Can’t drown the sound, so rich in austere times,
Of Hope I find preserved in Shelley’s rhymes.
Sadly, Percy died before the change he dreamed of came about.