Each and every Town doth possess a Clown,
And all Cities, more of the Same,
Each rustic heath its Fools bequeath
Unto Polity’s insidious Game.
To take on Airs in Public Squares
And assume unqualified Graces,
From sad Traditions are born Politicians,
Sly masks conceal both Faces.
Those Oratorical Songs, from Glib Tongues,
We applaud the Perfidies they Utter,
Like good Boy Scouts, ne’er foster Doubts
As we’re dragged into the Gutter.
All give Just Cause for supporting Wars
And dispatching our kin to Die
By foreign ballistics, as Permissible Statistics,
Yet we still embrace the Lie.
Seduced by Guiles and Coprophagous Smiles,
Obtuse Voters franchise their Reelection,
Ne’er disappointed with those so Anointed
While their Sins elude due Detection.
Yet When that Light shines in the Night
With all Crimes Exposed and Castigated,
Justice Rails as her Impeachment fails
And Plutocratic Impunity demonstrated.
With Nepotistic Thanks they closeth Ranks,
Each vindicating t’other’s Felonious Deeds,
Pompously Aloof behind Their version of Truth,
Cohering to Venal, Sanctified Creeds.
But who can Guess the Nemesis of Redress,
His Name is Bile in their Gullets,
Perhaps such Retribution the only Solution,
The Assassin, and his Iconoclastic Bullets.
Each and every Town hath buried a Clown,
And in City cemeteries lie more the Same,
Each rustic heath has a Fool lain Beneath,
Who signed Politician a’hind their Name.