I can imagine you sitting in front of a tv
The middle-finger flipping you is your history
Like many rivers feed the sea
So do your crimes return for you to see!
The roost is coming home to disparage
And you are hooping and howling with rage
You are livid with fear at this stage
There’s no one to speak up for you—none sage.
Your claims are a fraud, and they are spurious
And the escalating emergency is injurious
But, you insisted on harping on the past
And the erosion of democratic norms is vast.
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