as pompous orators bellow sunshine
when there is no sunshine
we are left clawing for table scraps
and when they promise change
it’s change for the worse
disguised in the clever nuance
of long dead hope

we’re forced to pick a winner
in a stable of empty suits
with empty promises
and empty souls
and while they run for office
we run for our lives
away from the dismal
daft
dance of donkeys
donkeys like wolves in sheep’s clothing
waiting for a chance to swim in a bureaucracy
of man-eating sharks

in the home of the brave
we’re counting ballots like broken glass
poured down our throats
until our voices bleed the corruption
of one man in an office
meant for a better man
or woman
and we’d almost settle
for a well trained baboon
who looks good in a suit

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