I see the weapons poised,
To eviscerate ‘our boys’.
I see the strutting pose,
And the emperor’s new clothes.
I hear the fawning praise,
By the abject and enslaved.
I hear no voices raised;
We are as silent as the grave.
You and I are through.
You unstick my glues.
It is sad but true:
You and I are screwed.
I can’t learn that guitar strum,
Of your urgent beat of drum.
Am I stunned by you, benumbed,
Or drunk on love like rum?
Are you deaf or are you dumb?
Can’t you see what’s yet to come?
Can you see? Are you blind?
Or have you simply lost your mind?
You and I are through.
You don’t have a clue.
We got lost in the blues.
It is all bad news.
I hear the marching feet,
Of the jackboots on the street.
I see the new elite,
And their quislings indiscreet.
As I’ve said to all I meet:
It’s not truth but cruel deceit.
It’s the lies they all repeat.
Don’t let hope embed defeat!
You and I are through.
My heart is rent in two,
And torn apart, anew.
You and I are through.
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