They dance with the idea
it consumes them wholly
wrought from ancient fear
of what they thought was holy
The rich move them like pawns
and laugh at their red deeds
then a fearsome day soon dawns
and their anger makes us bleed
Lies and hunger and a sense
of loss and falling down
the talking heads talk nonsense
about their stolen crown
They follow blindly and with glee
they chant and curse and sing
they smash and kill and plea
for praise from a would-be king
The center holds for one last stand
the guardians beat back the horde
they will return as they had planned
to commit what some abhorred
Some bolder hand will hold their reins
the broken veil falls from our face
the death’s head move for sordid gains
a triumph of a darker grace
So thus our city on a hill
shining for those with lifted eyes
crumbles into rubble still
just a shambles in disguise
