A Liberal Tale

Where deviant acts reside
Among those mostly dead,
Close by the evil putrid side,
A lib’ral rear’d his head.

A pungent pile of worn out creeds,
Where truth was never found;
Where all the lying words proceeds,
While all known dhimmis gather’d round.

There liv'd a lib’ral, heap’d in shame,
A weak and shallow sight;
Renown'd for lying; his fame
An inglorious anal blight.

One time in lying pomp he said
All vets had won their vote;
The vote, it seems, he had not read,
But they all won, he clearly wrote.

No true virtues he possest,
Just evil passions felt;
For in his hateful satan breast
No real affections dwelt.

The truth his sad heart could not take,
As his wicked thoughts form'd to prove
Whate'er the hateful mind can fake,
The human soul can’t move.

He lost his chance to repent,
Of all the lies and evil done;
A lib’ral can’t just change intent,
Leaving the task undone.

In podunkville he sought relief.
In a small house built from his lies,
To cherish there his faithless grief,
While nursing a liar’s demise.

There, to his big surprise,
The truth kept creeping in.
A truth he couldn’t revise
Much to his wild chagrin.
What was the truth he couldn’t keep out
And gave him no support?
Twas the truth I’ve written about,
All lib’rals - execute or deport