I Chorus no Croaking Chants;
To Villainous Vampires:
Barring  Tainted Teeth
To chew with joy our Flaying Flesh,

In State House Pots!

No Hallelujah Hymns;
For shifty Snakes in shapeless Suits
Who swallow whole
A Country Crushed on crosses cursed,

In Temples trashed!

I STRING no Saintly Songs;
For Grave tailors:
Who Cut and Craft
Our Shredded Shrouds,

With Smiles that stab!

NO!!!
My Simple Song
Is not for Messy Men
Who work that HARD
To Shame us so, in Sordid Style!

YES!!!

My Dusty Dirge
Is for a Country Crushed
By the Weight of Woes
Imposed on us
With marbled VOTES
To dress our Goats in Colored Coats!

I Voice this Verse
For Shaky Souls
Who Freeze with Fear,
In Silent Strain like Wasted Whores
Lined up to hang on PARTY Poles!

This is a dirge;
To the Daily Drag
Of people left to Drift and Drown
In putrid pools of  Toxic Tears
Flooding a life of grueling grief!

YET:
It’s so hard
To Holler High
‘A Hymn of Hope’
To a nation stunned
And Dropped like Dung
Beyond the feverish Fence

Of Faceless Fear!

Such ‘Sweetened Songs’
Are Hardly Heard
By Screaming Souls
Wriggling like Worms
In horrid Holes of harrowing Hell!