I Think They Doth Protest Too Much
I think they doth protest too much
Though they say nothing
For fear the noxious, noisy wind
Will leave its fetid stench on them
For perfume is but a piglet’s bath
A cloak o’er bloodied flags
That bid them “go and do your worst”
Your life is over, you are cursed
They protest those that protest them
A beggared chant verse sainted hymn
Defend the throne of gods unknown
That somehow they have voted in
For truth is hard and lies defile
The sweetest talk the demon’s guile
That leads us to the tipping point
Of corpses marching single file
Yet still they doth protest too much
With blue-lit, cardboard voices
Unable to accept the fact
Somehow these were their choices
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