The Newspaper
I’m tired of the newspaper,
Defeated and ashamed,
For story after story features
He-who-can’t-be-named.
But even worse, the toadies
Who bow down and kiss his toes
Are gloating with their power
Which nobody will oppose.
We’re headed for disaster
Yet it’s difficult to care
Because the news assures us
That, already, we are there.
Our nation once was mighty,
Opportunity did shine,
But that’s the case no longer
Since nobody has a spine.
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