Maybe a target, a cold heart,
A plan and a forked tongue
Will see me through the dark days.
My reaction is financially charged.
Maybe I could be like a politician,
And tell more lies than truth,
When I need the miserably poor
To put me in power,
After having made empty promises.
When they burn tires, vandalize
As a form of communication,
Crying for the promised help,
My hands would be tied.
I would still doublespeak to them,
They are not bright, they won’t mind.
I would be sleeping in parliament,
Pretending to be representing them.
Bylaws to keep them down,
Systems to mute the loudly critical ones,
Among the ignorant many.
I would give them half their full share,
Having them believe that I care,
Making sure they rely on me,
For their daily bread,
Feeding them lies and lies,
Through the bankrolled media.
I would abuse my power,
And refuse their needs.
When I get caught in the act,
I would be guilty while trying to prove
My innocence beyond corrupt judicial doubt.
Well, maybe a target, a cold heart,
A plan and a forked tongue,
Won’t see me through my dark days.