Our leaders in their crimson clothes,
made of the finest fabric found,
and those found backing their regime,
have set on them a royal crown.

Some blind to what is underneath;
hearts filled with darkness at their core,
stoked with divisiveness and greed,
they serve this narcissistic corp.

A leader’s job is this: to lead;
a Shepard, there to guard his flock,
in trials, they arm the battle lines,
protecting like the mighty hawk.

So, tear off the glitter and the glitz,
and tinsel of this TV game,
the constant barricade of shame,
tarnishing our nation and its name.

You are not here to entertain,
but lead us with the wisest minds,
but fools within their cloaks made new,
are still but fools; the worst of kinds.

In this our year of reckoning,
with demons we dare not discuss,
we cannot hide in cloaks of blame,
and hope this too shall pass from us.

Take up your right to choose again,
and send those tumbling to their knees,
for as they treated those they led,
so too their fate shall come to be.