Tanks
The Meglomaniac of the year,
Maybe seeing his mortality,
Craving a way to ensure
A really lasting legacy,
Launches his tanks
Expecting might to be right.
Conscripts don’t beat patriots
Giving the Meglomaniac fright.
The promised quick victory,
The annexed state of slavery
Crumnbles and quivers in
The face of Patriotic bravery.
Half a pound of tuppeny rice
As the cost of oil is rising
Costing more and more to fuel
A tank, which is hardly surprising.
Combat continues with
Refined tactics and stealth,
Rumours and counter rumours
Of the Meglomaniac’s health.
Dictatorships don’t listen
Or tolerate the question why
So the rest of the world waits
For the Meglomanic to die.
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