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.