Written when I was a conservative. Dedicated to Michelle Malkin
Please equilibrate the truth.
For the lies that permeate this land
Are startlingly uncouth.
As we watch
The Great Redeamer
Washed out of our lives
Can we quell this drunken fog
Before we try to stop the smog?
In the San Francisco hills there bloom
Nude flowers of revolt
While again in New York City
Orders kept by Trojan colt.
As the Grand fictitious reverend
Spew their dark separatist lies
The giant of redemption is quelled
By dreams of a pie in the sky
A false past
And a tie
The rat crawls from the gutter
To snatched away the Pearlsound
While debate over the issues turns
To bleak bipartisan swirls
Stop! Says Get ACLU
We cannot hurt the rat.
Please note the fleas that bite him,
His back needs to be scratched.
Along the shore
There sit the ominous ravens
Angry, bitter, with wine cups of gall.
In there right hand they brandish a cold flame
In there left hand they brandish a word
All thing continue, from the beginning!
They squawk with vile artogance, sitting by the wayside
All things continue, from the beginning!
They are a diverse lot, of that to be sure
Some atheists, some terrorists
“All things continue, from the beginning!”
Responsibility is a horror
To the beautifully defaming
While the dark clouds gather round
Is it me or is it raining?
Arrogance, under diversity, is Miss Pinks
New great by word.
While the dreamer lies in the field
With the dew of fifty years.
It’s the blood he drew with apathy
The plow lies, untouched.
“The world will be as one,” he says
“And why then will I worry,”
“For the conscience will be gone.”
The plow lie, untouched.
Miss Pink says to the Butcher,
“I’d like a plate of peace. Please sacrifice the innocence, so I can have my piece.”
“Hurry up please, it’seems time.”
The Butcher say, “OH no Miss Pink, and let me explain why. Just wait and no innocents will be sacrificed, so you can have your pie!”
“Hurry up, please, It’seems time!”
Miss Pink responds, “What do I care, that’s sounds no concern of mine.”
“Hurry up please it’seems time.”
“We share love,” say the harlots,
“Why cant we embrace.”
"So what if our children suffer,
Their innocence erased.
So as George Sonos funds the smear campaigns,
From off of distant shores
The people in the cities cry
For liberation, more!
As the perverts roam the playgrounds,
Our traditions cut like butter
Still despite the inquisition,
We’re all wondering at the clutter