canvas black, as black can be,
he tries to make it blacker,
like wolf skilled in lycanthropy
like corpses for hijacker

not enough of world starvation
too few souls in deprivation
not enough pain and hurt and hunger
the world it needs a new war-monger

the evil itself will self-consume
but first consumes the others
but 'til the sun its shine resumes
he'll **** off his own brothers

so huddle close humanity
take shelter while you can
and watch as lurid insanity
turns world to dust 'n pan

we heard the rumbling from afar,
smudge of darkness, smell of war,
and then the torrents burst from cloud
bullet-hail on the crowd

'twas too late to seek a shelter
from bombs that rained like helter-skelter
too late for kids who huddled cowed
donned too early their sallow shrouds

then the tyrant spoke out aloud
spoke destruction with fist avowed
no-one saw beneath brow proud
the madman saw a mushroom-cloud

no-one heard, no-one thought,
though air tingled with danger fraught
"he's not serious," "it'll come to naught",
now no-one's left to tell you aught.

i saw the willow's dripping branches
crying into the blue-black deep
its golden-yellow avalanches
falling where the monsters sleep

locks of green and silky hair
turn auburn as the dusky sky
brown and russet as the air
moist like blood b'neath battle-cry

i looked into the inky waters,
stirred them with my phantom foot,
still, dark carrion, freshly slaughtered,
murky, raven, black like soot.

all around the laughter echoes
in the places of the void
once i saw a bright green meadow,
once i saw a world destroyed.

every day the death-toll rises
every day catastrophes
every day no more surprises
just more new ... calamities

wading through the corpses dead
as they fade on news front-spread
swift they fade from memory
as swift arrives new treachery

no more tears
no more sighs
ears are numb
to mounting dies

rolling, rolling, empty space
lost all sense of human grace
passed all points irrevocable
world awaits the inevitable

sensuous tentacles tug
"don't be a mug"
whispers forgotten voices
drowned in oppressive vices
waters that suffocate,
defile and soil
living soul

They said he'd stop his lying,
they'd be wary of his deceit,
no longer would he'd be flying
by his party's pants' plush seat.

no more would he transmogrify
the figures and dry fact,
no more the wink and smile sly
buffoon and circus act

he'd abide by their critique
while changing his technique,
his approach would be bespoke,
never again his promises broke

so they'd have you all believe
their gargantuan claims
lips honeyed 'n cloying thieve
as his lackeys play his game

Does a leopard change his spots?
Or a dalmatian his black dots?
Have you ever seen pigs fly?
Is the moon a custard pie?

Does Winter follow Spring?
Can the tone-deaf learn to sing?
Can one run before one walks?
Ask a question before one talks?

Does the sun shine at night
Or the moon midst bright sunlight?
Can we move back in time?
Ascend Everest without a climb?

With some, deceit is nature,
their hyperbole and big talk,
in their spiel o' legislature,
in their manner and their walk

and as they breathe their last in dying,
as they writhe and grasp the nebula,
they'll be holding firm to lying,
till stone[d] silent in their sepulchre.

And as they ride their spirit's back
still they'll be the same ol' hack,
till at last they will atone
the public's groan and broken bone.