The Wretch

Sitting on the porch watching worlds collide And wondering if the truth will be classified Sipping a mint julep; knowing I should be horrified Though I would consider that undignified Gazing at the players moving their pawns Fighting against destiny to become icons Listening to the warriors singing their songs And to the clanging of iron and bronze I, the master puppeteer, watch with glee As I make the once civil act so beastly I have made them eat the fruit of the poison tree And bent their will to suit my idiosyncrasy I am the dulcet whisper in your ear That tempts and beckons you year after year I cajole with lies and caress with fear I am the master puppeteer, the vile engineer