| The General Speaks |
An arcane twisted notion of honor and duty
- Hung round his neck like a rotting albatross
His spit shined boots covered with youthful blood
His goose stepping into the room echoing his arrogance
He sat in stark contrast to the wizened white haired elder
Who sat uncomfortably by his side looking nervously about
Praying for a miracle to lubricate the sand in the hour glass
So he could remove himself from the presence of these fools
The wise one was not at all what he appeared to be
His suit coat hiding the wires by which he was controlled
He could do little more than open his mouth for an instant
And the room was filled with the stench of lies and falsehood
The General however was quite at ease and adept at telling lies
He knew the secret power words that enthralled and hypnotized
And left his listeners either struck mute or at a loss for a response
He played his game with practiced skill but something was wrong
These people showed no fear yet they were the ones from times before
They accused him of failure and told him what they wanted to hear
"Damn you" his mind screamed silently to itself "I’m in control here"
But they were sick of his ways and inured to his character assassination
Will you fight for a hundred years they asked expecting no reply
What good has come of your war and ensuing death and folly
Has it made us safe as it emptied the treasure house coffers of gold
Will our youth again step foot in their homes to see their loving families
His words they came like fangs gnashing and glinting in eves light
They will attack us and burn down our homes and rape our children
They will put us in chains and put torch to our ideals and values
But alas his values were no longer theirs nor his glory did they desire
But all this time the wizard stood watch on the castle keep eyes darting
Planning his next move, his next proclamation of fear to frighten the weak
And give hope still to his vile minions scurrying around the Congress halls
Sprinkling his magic damage control dust to keep his power strong enough
For he would soon become one of the great immortals
At the cost of a little youthful blood, spilled in his name
To assure his ascension even while he still drew life’s breath
And the last laugh would be his alone
