Is it the road that you promised
that would keep us sweet?
Some hope.
Here, law exists rather uselessly,
like rotting piles of garbage,
civil liberties not sacred,
your politics being cut-throat
and consisting of power-plays.
Your friends operate
with apparent impunity,
you've tranformed them
into little gods.
It is magic - one of the best days
of their life.
They've become your avatar,
a bunch of leeches,
a bunch of turncoats
a bunch of avengers of wrongs.
The spell you cast on us
has already been broken,
we've been filled
with tales of her horror,
of her skeletons in the cupboard,
of her evils.
You're tremendously biased
towards her rather than your
bosses protesting soaring prices,
fighting and resenting injustice,
living in poverty,
being damaged by unemployment.
You are the chief antagonist
in a row now, so don't pull
the wool over our eyes,
you dirty liar.
You've led our hope astray.
Soon, you'll, we know, annihilate it.
No one has told us a worst joke
than you.
Ooh, dream on!
You are your own boss as
you enjoy the taste
of sweet revenge.
Your private daemons drive you
to go back on your promises,
letting out a string
of roaring barks,
regressing into childishness.
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