They look smart in dresses, in suits and ties
But their native language is lies
Aloft and aloof they stand
Sneering at the common man
Appreciate your concern
But hope that you will burn
A democratic pretence
Always talking nonsense
Trapped inside a bubble
That’s the trouble
Talk and talk into the night
A preordained decision, ayes to the right
With weasel words they hide the truth
They deceive both old and youth
Dishonourable machinations
The Village serves its own imagination
Snouts in the trough, money talks
You cannot beat the system
Choose your leaders
But they are only puppets
Shoot one down and up pops another just the same, only much worse
And still we defend them, attack them
We petition them and it makes no difference
On it grinds, the wheel that crushes the population
No comments:
Post a Comment