James Comey, the Director of the FBI, announced that in spite of the mountain of damning evidence against her, Hillary Clinton is cleared of all charges. The Left has won, and we enter the era of lawlessness where the connected and the powerful are above the law. The Left captured the ballot box some time ago and now rules in perpetuity, and we now see that that rule includes the complete and utter disregard for the law. And that is tyranny. The Left has won, and Barack Obama has completed his fundamental transformation of the United States into a third world dictatorship.

Outside the shuttered windows comes the gentle sound of rain
And in the distance, dimly heard, the rumble of a train
The mournful whistle as the cars climb slowly up the ridge
To disappear in doppler’d tones and race down for the bridge
The rain was welcome to the few who worked the fallow field
Surrounding shuttered windows of the folks who would not yield
Who waited in the darkness for the knock upon the door
And to the freight yard where the crowded boxcars stood before
The darkened freight yard damp and cold, lit by a tiny lamp
The passengers bound for the far re-education camp
Inside the shuttered boxcar came the sound of moving train
And in the distance, dimly heard, the gentle sound of rain

Bill Clinton sat in his private plane on the tarmac in the VIP section of Phoenix airport waiting for the private plane of Loretta Lynch, the Attorney General of the United States, to land. When it did, he left his plane and walked into the AG’s plane where the Attorney General dismissed her staff and had a private thirty minute meeting with the ex-president, who, along with his wife, Hillary Clinton, are under criminal investigation by the FBI and Loretta Lynch’s Justice Department. Outrage ensued, though the leftist media hardly mentioned it, with cries in some quarters that the Attorney General recuse herself from the case against the Clintons, plus calls for a Special Prosecutor to be appointed. It has been suggested that Bill Clinton clumsily damaged his wife’s political chances by his inappropriate actions, but I don’t believe Bill Clinton was clumsy at all. I believe Bill Clinton was simply pointing out to the Attorney General that the Clintons are wired in at the top and are well known for handsomely rewarding their friends, and that Hillary has stated many times that she plans to keep Loretta Lynch in her job. The fix is in folks, and Hillary skates. At least until Trump is elected.

A meeting in a private plane
Just old friends reminiscing
They talked of grandkids in the main
But what is it we’re missing?
Corruption is a Clinton trait
The law is meant for others
And so in Phoenix he would wait
And give to her her druthers
A pleasant job, a pleasant life
A private plane for travel
Her job was safe with old Bill’s wife
Don’t let it all unravel
He smiled and said this little chat
Stays in this plush compartment
A ruling by the AG that
Is shared by your Department
Allowing a free honest vote
No more investigation
And you will get a thank you note
From a rich and grateful nation

Today is the Fourth of July, a day once universally celebrated in the United States, but a day that today’s public school and college educated kids know nothing about because the Left has erased all memory of America’s past, and if you aren’t told about something it doesn’t exist, at least not for you. The country now no longer honors its soldiers, it has been taught by the Left to despise them. Veterans are left to die unattended in the Obama administration VA hospitals. American flags are taken from graves and thrown into dumpsters. An oppressed world once cried for the appearance of the Yankee soldiers to rescue them, but now we cry for the way our own people treat them. Yankee soldiers. How did they get that name? Well, during the Revolutionary War, a war now completely unknown to our current young people, a surgeon in the British army, poking fun at the rude colonial boys playing at being officers and gentlemen, wrote a ditty called Yankee Doodle, describing a yokel putting a feather in his cap and calling it macaroni, a reference to British military slang that referred to gold braid as macaroni, as we now call gold braid scrambled eggs. The rude colonial boys turned the tables and proudly proclaimed themselves Yankee Doodle. Yes, it is the Fourth of July, and some of us remember what it means and what it meant. And yes, it is still a grand old flag, despite the efforts of the Left to tear it down, and when you see our flag on this Fourth of July, think about it, think about the soldiers who have given their lives so that you may live in a free country and go to school and be taught to despise them.

Yes, she’s a grand old flag
She’s a high flying flag
And forever and ever she’ll wave
And we take great pride
In the men who died
To keep this the home of the brave
We’ve been tried before
In the bad times and war
And we’ve always come through in the end
For the stars and stripes
Lead the drums and pipes
In the march down the street, round the bend
To the promised land
That the brave brothered band
Left to us by the red, white and blue
Yes they died for the flag
For that high flying flag
May we always have brave men and true

Listening to Shepard Smith on Fox Tuesday evening describe the events in Ataturk airport earlier that day, I was distressed to hear him describe the actions of the Muslim killers as “bastardizing this religion”. THERE IS NO BASTARDIZING OF THE ISLAMIC RELIGION. THE KILLERS ARE NOT ACTING AGAINST THE PRECEPTS OF ISLAM, THEY ARE FOLLOWING THE COMMAND TO KILL THE INFIDEL WHEVEVER HE MAY BE FOUND, AS LAID OUT IN THE KORAN SOME FOURTEEN HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

I vomit when I hear this stuff
That Islam stands for peace
I want to scream “Enough’s enough!”
This PC crap must cease!
What will it take to tell the truth
About this crawling scourge
I know some think I’m quite uncouth
Because I want a dirge
To sound its sad and mournful tune
Over their bodies slain
Removing from this world and soon
This stinking Muslim stain

The Left in Britain and Europe is setting up to deny the British public their Brexit victory by any means possible. It is almost as if British democracy, having hit the iceberg and survived, is now faced with a second iceberg. But icebergs are a shifty lot; they move, slowly to be sure, but they move, and it is not at all clear that the Labour Party knows exactly where that second iceberg is. Is it in Edinburgh, where the Scots threaten to torpedo the move out of the EU? And if so, where in Edinburgh? Perhaps it is in the house once lived in by Robert Louis Stevenson where it is reading, in manuscript, The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde.

How sweet the noble Mr. Hyde
The Leftists would appear
As long as you are on their side
You have but naught to fear
But cross the line and you shall see
The Dr. Jekyll leer
The maddened eyes that say that we
Are charged by God to steer
The ship of state until she sinks
On yonder icy floe
And if a single peasant blinks
Then overboard you go
And then before their very eyes
The transformation came
The voters wished their fond goodbyes
And meant to change the game
And Dr. Jekyll in his wrath
Grabbed sweet Britannia’s throat
And cackling led her down the path
And ‘cross the castle moat
And to the dungeon she was sent
Until she abject yield
And British voters did repent
And Brexit was repealed
Yet even as the Left rejoiced
They thought that they would win
The sudden scream of “Ice!” was voiced
And icebergs did them in

The British have voted to leave the European Union, and good riddance. The European Union was always a shotgun marriage. We all remember countries that voted No being badgered and threatened into voting again and again until, wearily, they voted Yes, at which point the vote was final. The EU was always a French dream to tie the hands of Germany, and the dream lived for many years, but now it is ending. What will happen next is anybody’s guess, but the days of totally disparate European countries being ruled by unelected Brussels bureaucrats is clearly at an end. Britain has said No!, or maybe Enough!, and European nationalism has come awake, wondering how the heck that EU business could have happened. But even with shotgun marriages, a breakup leaves feelings of guilt and regret, because the marriage wasn’t uniformly dismal. There were the kids, of course, and the times we walked the beach under the stars on warm summer nights, the trips to the theater with laughter and drinks at intermission, and those cold winter nights we kept each other warm, so a certain amount of sadness is to be expected. But the Marxist/Leftist Blue Model of governance is kaput, or as Bob Dylan might say, it’s all over now, baby blue

The times we had to bail out ancient Greece
Who yearned for gods and Jason’s golden fleece
Complaining of their treatment without cease
And giving to us not a moment’s peace
But it’s all over now, baby Blue
The time the Eastern Bloc clamored to join
They gave us paper marks for golden coin
The happy times we fished the Irish Boyne
Incoming cash we’d laughingly purloin
Well that’s all over now, baby Blue
We Brits are on our own, like good Queen Bess
Empire, Drake and Hawkins is my guess
Though guilt and some regret I will confess
I wish the breakup movement much success
Yes it’s all over now, baby Blue

As Britain exits the EU, the European Union sighs for its lost love, and sings softly to itself of the sad parting, but mindful too, that life goes on, comforting itself in the thought that mindless progressivism will triumph in the end. In its wounded sorrow it sings

I think of the love that we made
Think of the kisses that fade
All the sweet moments I’d trade
To be still with you
Remember the warm starry nights
The silly unreasoning fights
The passions that rose to the heights
When I was with you
Our love was unending it seemed
We loved and we laughed and we dreamed
Together our love is redeemed
Through love that is true
I’ll miss those sweet kisses you gave
Your sweet tender touches I crave
I’ll cry but I’ll try to be brave
Though you say we’re through
Remember the love that we made
Remember sweet kisses don’t fade
Remember the promises paid
When we said I do

Just when you thought history had come to an end comes the tumultuous upheaval of Britain leaving the European Union. We have not seen the like since Agincourt. I grieve for Englishmen yet unborn, who will not see again such a day as this. The beginning of the end of the Marxist/Leftist model of governance that has done to the once indomitable spirit of the West what the Huns, the Saracens and the Persians could not do; they have reduced the West to trembling ladyboys, who flinch in the face of adversity. British nationalism, born at Agincourt and midwifed by stout yeomen and stout yew longbows, has risen from the dead hand of Marxist Brussels.

The Midlands felt the deadly lash
Of EU bureaucrat decrees
That set their jobs in jeopardy
As goods poured in from overseas
The working man in England saw
His life and neighborhood go down
As Calais trains brought Arab mobs
To rape and bleed the British Crown
They saw the open borders crowd
Tell Britons they must kiss the ring
Of Brussels with its foreign law
That Charter Oak meant not a thing
They rose this day, the yeomen did
And showed the EU toffs the door
Declaring Britons shall be free
Just as they did at Agincourt

When you love someone, the day is full of brilliantly gorgeous colors, so vivid they would make the rainbows blush and cry with envy.

The dawning streaks the night sky palest rose
With golden splashes of an amber hue
And in a moment dawn will sudden close
And tell me that the morning loves you too
The rising sun climbs swiftly in the sky
And lights the world with gilded rays anew
So beautiful and glorious that I
Know that the golden noontime loves you too
As sunset draws the purpled curtain low
And rose-gold sky turns dusk from shimmered blue
The brilliant bursting sunset colors glow
And evening says goodnight to loves like you
And as the daytime colors gently close
My thoughts and dreams are always, dear, of you
And watch the sky turn black from amber-rose
And know with all my heart I love you too

From the viewpoint of Islam, the Sweet Used To Be was the glorious days of the Caliphate, the bygone days of beautiful Andalus and the magnificent Alhambra, of the wonders of Baghdad on the Tigris and the tales of Ali Baba. And so it seems, to the thoughtful Muslim, that the days of the Sweet Used To Be are again upon them, revisited, and delivered by an all-powerful and all merciful Allah.

The distant day of golden sweetest dreams
Draws ever closer with each passing day
The West will hear the horrifying screams
Of children torn from mothers’ arms at play
The slaughter of the men is blest by god
The taking of the women blest by man
The ease with which we did it must seem odd
To those who do not see it is god’s plan
The crescent flag now flies from sea to sea
From Britain to the Indonesian shore
The sword of Islam has brought to the knee
The infidel who deigned to not make war
The day is soon upon us, my dear friends
When Islam bursts its shackles and is free
And uses all the means to gain her ends
And take us back to the sweet used to be