sometimes i think that life is good
but then i realize i’m in a place made for people to feel happy so they stay longer.
a so called “happy place” created to cover up the places that aren’t so happy,
to cover up the dying and wars,
we see and think what they want us to.
they build attractions, distractions,
so we don’t think about what’s really going on.

Election time: there they are
in beautiful dresses, the fairies
with their wands
aiming at my dreams

Sparkling stars
a beautiful world
is what they wish me
I get it as a gift

if I want, 'Say it'
my vote
makes the difference
but the jester laughs

and dances around the shiny dresses
He points to the wands
they mostly point to each other
the rest is advertising paper

that wraps up the problems nicely
so be careful with wishes
they come true
the way you think:

half, and inconsistent
with a bill
for others
or for later

"Let me blatantly ignore the key tenets of your question and, in the interest of proper dissimulation of the facts, let me insinuate underlying assumptions and make disparaging comments which seek to undermine the credibility of the sources of the data you quote, the reliability of those distasteful first hand witnesses on the dodgy line and, lastly, the relevance of the assertions made.
"I can do this with all confidence, without a shred of competing evidence, because of my tacit refusal to see beyond my world view where I might be confronted by the truth of the devastation my government has wrought. My therapist calls this my coping mechanism, but I'm not just coping, I'm winning.
"Next question?"

It seems that the fight was already won—
All passion is done.
They still conquer and oppress,
But now we just recess.

We all know something must be done,
But will we ever change?
Will we ever awaken from the trance
For long enough to reengage?

We would rather not wake up,
Because massacre
Has replaced breakfast
In the morning.

It seems that the media is just radio static—
Turn the dial and headlines come in and out of tune.
The rest is noise, but that's how some like to have it.
The nonsense and noise are just charismatic.

So radicalize yourself to simply speak.
Smash that radio and become one of the first
To wander into the streets.
You'll see, these streets are where people once protested.

But darling, you must first wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Get up and go.

Go scream at the top of your weak lungs as you run.
Cut through the static with your own kind of rebellion.
Your efforts and those of the others are all that we have,
But they will surely part the static sea.

Change will come eventually.
On what side of history will you be?

Everything I've touched has turned to gold,
A feeling that never gets too worn or old,
I savor every moment, every win,
With my opponents stuck in their unsightly bin.

The more they shout and flail their arms,
The more my inner soul it calms,
Their din is music to my ears,
It gives me pep; it takes off years.

My aims are clear, my skills well-honed,
As to their mob, they seem half ******,
Supporting goals that folks don't like,
Wishing they would all just take a hike.

I've only started, the road is long
To fix our country, make it strong,
Instill a sense of pride and worth,
A gleaming beacon for this Earth.

Some complain I act the King,
With subjects kissing my eternal ring.
Do I care, not in a word,
But I do find the concept touchingly absurd.

Kings don't have the power I do,
Most don't even have the slightest thought or clue,
I instead can say and act,
Forgoing any nod to grace and tact.

I get things done, stir up the ***,
Turn detractors’ faces crimson hot,
Hire my friends, cull the wokes,
With a flourish of the pen and practiced strokes.

Next to Putin, now that's a blast
To try and make a peace that lasts.
Get it done with strength and charm,
End this war, curtail the harm.

Then who knows - that Gaza thing,
What a headache with a sting.
Two thousand years of pain and strife,
Where constant bickering is rife.

But if a deal is to be done
I'm the go to, I’m the man.
The Nobel thing will be my prize
This will cut Obama down to size.

And after that may you well ask,
What shall be my next enticing task?
Greenland’s there, Panama for sure,
Forget the catch, it’s the chase that’s the allure.

There is no Power like a Pen
To drown the walls of Kings
Nor any suasion like a Verse
Coercive rule an inferior thing

Endeavor such consumes the scribes
And summons want and will to resist
Coercive tyranny, that dull machine
Toppled by Bards' superior fist

He stands where the money is.
He can afford it.
To walk over the rubble.
And turn towards his purpose.
Rejoicing in his mortal luck
Using the Earth as his service
But it has seen its dues
It must be paid with disturbance.

Plant countless coins.
Watch the greed resurface.
The inhabitants can protest,
Their idiosyncrasies of depletion
Inching towards the furnace
Trade your stocks, trade your conscience
Taste the red copper of the red lines
The fine hues of the coal mines
Go home to where home is
Forget the Earth's purpose

Choose who you want to worship
They'll tell you to cash it
Let them know your check is ready
Leave the rest to the masses.