Depature of the Truth

Heralded by the sounds of guns They came like an ill-wind Sweeping towards our choices we fled and upon return Blood, blood every where was seen The gun of thunder boomed Onthe trunk of the toads We were the toads Whose choices sunk under-feet our ballot boxes departed With the servants of the masters The lords of our time Children sent by fathers to steal We the the Nannies shall go mourning For the truth has departed Our choices have departed The ballot boxes have gone