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Madness Chronicles

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There he stands, the head of a powerful nation.

A Hindenburg headed for conflageration

A burnt orange mind of rust

wearing a weaving, pompadour bust

Such a boob to think he's all the world's sensation.

He's got a base that wallows  in arrogant loathing

if your pigment don't match the royal cards he's holding

So blind to see the hungry hearts of men

and pulling us all down into that muddy pen

Where the big hogs lap the slop and become emboldened.

But there he stands now, for every soul to view

In all his lying, whining, cowardly despicable stew

Not knowing that he's the dam that broke it all loose

Righteous waters pouring all over his cooking goose.

There he stands still, temporarily in our gossipy news

blustering big with lies that continue to spew

while judicial walls collapse around him

like Samson he stands there, astounded

that his brilliance always leads him to a pile of refuse.

But he's got a base of lingering loser rebels

and fellow henchmen nazi and no-brain pebbles

A landslide vote and the law will serve our needs

to bring cretins to the courts for their angry screeds

and bring a new world of Peace beyond our troubles.


Website designed by Gwendolyn Cleveland

Web-Master/Designer: Hensel Graphics

© Jim Cleveland 2017