All cash must flow in only one direction.
All  must go to those who have a lot.
Alll POTUS tweets are used as misdirection
In Blame-a-lot!
The cabinet must all be legal morons
So they don’t see what POTUS has wrought.
Then they cannot be blamed for what goes on
In Blame-a-lot!

Blame-a-lot! Blame-a-lot.
It’s really much more than bizarre.
But in Blame-a-lot; Blame-a-lot!
That’s how conditions are.
In short there’s simply not
A much more likely spot
For shame and true chicanery
Than here in
Blame-a-lot!

I don’t believe a word you say;
You voted for Trump, so go away.
I don’t want your opinion any more
On literally any kind of issue.
Though you now begin to realize
What you did to us all. Get a tissue.
Go stand in the corner and let us
Adults fix up the mess you made.
None of you paid attention
Further than the second grade.

It’s not truly all your fault, I confess.
We have to lay blame on the press.
I’m not much happier with the
Millions who didn’t even vote.
They stayed home and ******;
Made the country miss the boat.
A lazy, worthless population
Is a shameful kind of circumstance
But a stupid loudmouthed bunch of fools
Is at the prom without any pants.

Then we look to a political group
That rolls around in their own ****
By electing a pompous baboon
Who can barely read or spell
Who spews out daily jabberwocky
That drives us all to a kind of hell.
He's an attention ***** and monster.
A spoiled rich brat with no brains
Who wants to set fire to the USA
Then urinate on the remains.

The horror is, though it’s all visible
Your lack of care about facts is risible.
You gladly go along with him when
He blames his predecessor instead,
Saying the fault is what your idiot did
Not keeping the truth firmly in your head.
It’s no longer campaign rhetoric.
So please wake the hell up and see
What your stupidity is doing to us
Because we can’t bend you over our knees.

The leaves first healthy and green
Reaching up to eternity
Then turning red, then gold and rust
And falling, translucent in their glory
Only their veins showing, organic lace;
The tree's honest history.
Only their slightly different shape
Remains a mystery,
Remembered by those who might've seen
As if in a fog, mistily
With just the few days of it's life
Lived blissfully.

These are the children, the ephemera
Of our trees
Giving, sharing, growing, expanding
Repeating generously
To populate our world with breath
Suffering death constantly
Being reborn silently to us;
Sentinels of majesty.

These are benefactors of life
For all of you and me
Casting themselves up from dirt
To our reality
Whether we believe it or know it.
They give voicelessly,
And that is what it means to be a tree
If you are leaves set free.

You told me lying was a sin;
You lied.
You told me cheating was a sin;
You cheated.
You told me adultery was a sin;
You cheated.
You told me stealing was a sin;
You stole.
You told me cursing was a sin;
You cursed.
You told me dishonoring my country was a sin;
You dishonored my country.
You told me to keep my promises;
You didn’t.
You told me to live by the Golden Rule;
You didn’t.
You told me to be careful of the company I keep;
You aren’t.
You told me to help those poorer than I;
You don’t.
You told me to be an example to youth;
You aren’t.
A question arises, by and by;
Is everything you said a big lie?

I knew you before you became such a major ****.
Back in the days before your morals ceased to work.
I knew you as a loud-mouthed ****** spoiled little boy
Who always acted as if he had never experienced joy.
Your posture always seemed to rotate back to whining
Like none of your black clouds had amy silver linings.

You gather around you sycophants
Who tell you that you are right
And any sanity you might have had
Goes down without a fight.

Your sense of entitlement seemed to be boundless
And truth be told it now borders on pure madness.
You try hard to convince us that what you say is real
And any words to the contrary is just what we feel
But not related to reality as you say it has to be.
Thus statements you make have turned into villainy.

You promised to make America great again
When it already was the home of free men.
Now you plan to end all that by simply selling out
To those that pay you well and prove yourself a lout.
There seems to be nobody much inside that lumpy suit.
All you seem to have is a cheap tin horn to toot.

You gather around you sycophants
Who tell you that you are right
And any sanity you might have had
Goes down without a fight.

He was sitting on a fencepost
A mouth harp in his hand
He started making music
Like a ghostly rubber band.
He called me a stranger
And, I asked him how he knew.
He raised his head and stared
And seemed to look me through.

He said:
There is nothing down this highway
But heartbreak and a tale
Nobody will friend you here
There’s nothing good for sale
We are here with no way out
So move right on away
You only have your freedom
If you don't let yourself stay.

Some people think it’s heaven
‘Cause they never had a chance
They never had a friend before
A storybook romance.
They made some stupid choices
Now there’s a piper to pay.
They’re deaf to rhyme or reason
No matter what you say.
Some believe they never had
The character to change,
That they were born without a dream
The hopeless and strange.

But we know lonely backroads
That never reach the bay.
We live in fogs of memory
Here in Futile Quay.
Where once we were children;
Now we never smile.
Our trip down this highway
Is a never-ending mile.
So go on back to comfort
To security and plans.
Stay too long in Futile Quay
You’re out of fortune’s hands.

I saw a woman on the bus today
She was scowling for all she was worth.
I found it impossible not to think
She had looked that way since birth.
She was openly starting and frowning at
A young woman less than half her age
Whose manner of appearance and actions
Seemed to set the woman into a rage.

The young lady was with her friends
But she was the happiest of the lot
Yet somehow her expressions of joy in life
Seemed to make the older woman hot.
I could tells he wanted to say something,
A coarse and disapproving kind of remark.
But she appeared to prefer to keep quiet
Even though here thoughts were obviously dark.

I sat next to the older woman and asked her,
“Do you know that girl standing right there?”
She frowned and told me, “Certainly not
I’m sure that type has nothing much to share.
Surely nothing godly or proper or polite.!”
I asked her why she felt that was the truth.
“There can be nothing good to come to her.
She’s obviously a major waste of her youth.

Look how she dresses and flaunts her ***
And don’t disregard how she makes up her face.
She doesn’t care if everyone knows that she
Is an embarrassment to her folks, a disgrace.
It’s disgusting how she wiggles her ****
In front of all of these ***** men to see.
She’s a ******* in the making, it seems.
At least that’s what she looks like to me."

I had so many things I wanted to say to her
To defend a young woman I did not know
But I made an instant decision that I
Would say nothing and let the moment go.
After all, the older woman had no regard
That times and changed and passed her by.
Nothing anybody had told her in life
Had made a difference, so how could I?