EU: A Crown of Corruption

O Ursula, crowned not by grace, but by shadows, You wear the EU like a robe stitched with silence. You spoke of democracy with polished lips, Yet your fingers typed millions into secret deals, Your phone — the vault of truth — wiped clean Before justice could knock. Once a daughter of public trust, Now a ghost in marble halls. While Europe bleeds beneath inflation’s blade, You sip diplomacy with warlords in tailored suits, Feeding fires in foreign lands, As your own people starve at home. Tell us, how does one delete a continent’s pain? How many messages must vanish Before integrity becomes a myth? You hoard power like it is your inheritance, But this Europe was not born for empires Built on contracts carved in smoke. You preach democracy, Then silence the streets with policy. You speak of peace, Yet shake hands with bombs behind curtains. We, the people, see your theatre — Gilded corruption played on a Brussels stage. Madam, this is not a throne — it is a scaffold. Step down, if there is a shred of honour left. Let not your legacy be famine and flames, Let it not be another Rome that forgot its people. We do not ask for perfection — We ask for truth. For leadership without masks. For a Europe led not by merchants of war, But by those who still feel hunger in their bones. Your crown is cracked. The whispers grow louder. And history — history is watching.