[Snaps // Slow bootheel stomp // Upright bass growl] [Female voice—posh spit, clipped cruel] She came swinging a purse like a mace, eyes sharp with empire, mouth curled in monetarist prayer. "There's no such thing as society," she hissed— just markets and minions, just winners and waste. [Tape hiss. Industrial clang.] The miners lit candles, she lit cigars— fueling stock tickers with family scars. She didn’t close coal— she choked it. Turned labor into a ghost town and sold the deed to Satan for stock options. [Snare skip, phone tap static, muffled protest chant] Privatize the soul, monetize the air, deregulate despair. Union Jack, blood red, hanging off a corporate chair. [Bass slap, champagne pop] War? A distraction. Falklands? Her ratings Viagra. She dropped bombs on distant sheep fields and called it patriotism— then sipped scotch on taxpayer time while children ate dust in Brixton. [Record scratch—cut to “God Save the Queen” played in reverse] She danced on council ruins, clipped school meals into ration cards, poured milk down drains like vengeance was vitamin D. [Guitar pick squeal, drum rattle] “Sink or swim,” she said— as she holed the lifeboats. Then blamed the drowning for not investing in snorkels. [Slow build—horns like sirens, vinyl loop hellish] She wore power like pearls, stiff and strangling, her words all law, her heart all ledger. And when the Iron Lady cracked? They welded the pieces into Parliament seats— still cold, still cruel, still echoing her sneer like mold on marble. [Final Snap—echoed, doubled, bleeding feedback] Margaret didn’t lead. She extracted. And left behind a kingdom of cuts. Snap. Snap. ---
