You could say it’s a flesh wound, and I’d play along,
But I think that a band aid will do you no good.
Your world is devastated, and mine is restored
To some semblance of normalcy. I can look toward
A much brighter reality. No knock on wood
Is required with its stating. I cannot be wrong.
Your head, now on a platter that’s not made of gold,
Spins a rat’s nest of trickery. Can it undo
What has now become history? Loss you can’t take.
We The People have told you that we need a break
On a permanent basis from the likes of you.
News forthcoming shall reveal how much you’re controlled.
You are such a fine catch as a Russian asset,
But the era of being Putin’s foolish tool
Is approaching its ending. Your head is a gift
To the newness of order. The energy shift
To a warmer vibration is wholesomely cool.
We’ve been fucked up our dumb ass, and we won’t forget!
In that act there’s been bloodshed and stark disregard
For what makes us a nation. It went on too long.
The dull aching will die down, and that which must heal
Is our true sense of worth and the way that we feel
Having endured a raping by the lord of wrong.
Consequences you’ll suffer for keeping him hard.