In Lies They Spin

In a house made for oil twixt waste and lies,
At the edge of the road with a junk-filled garage,
Walled in with a chain-link fence,  not too wise,
Lives the embodiment of hate steeped in mirage.
At a computer of Mac sits a hate-warped mind
Hate-filled and twisted from Satan’s own pit,
Where the seeds grow hateful for the lies of its kind
Soon to emit.

The truth falls silent, abruptly broken,
From the lies emitting from this clown.
If the lies were stopped and the truth spoken,
Would the hate of lib’rals smack him back down?
So long as the truth is silent and he remains gutless,
The lies will continue forth as the lib’ral way,
And the clown will show how he is brainless
Both night and day

His dense brainless skull is gray and worn
Never allowing truthful thoughts to climb
Above the sinister smears of his scorn
Of those who don’t go along with his crime.
His hate becomes great for those who do not agree;
Those who dare oppose his simpleton plans.
This clown, this podunker can’t seem to see
That truth remains.
 
Truth can’t be pressed down by one’s shoe;
As a flower crushed from the vine of its birth.
Neither can a lib’ral speak out with what’s true
As the worm can’t help living in the earth.
As the great podunker clown sings lie after lie
Without one thought to the truth of each song;
But continues singing the junk he will deny
All the year long.

With the lies in his mouth and his heart full of hate
It’s easy to see why he deserves no respect.
His brain’s on the dole and his worth’s under debate,
Did he wonder, “Why I’m wrong in all I select?”
The same lies he sang are sung again and again
About the Bush White House and the evil within.
Matters not what’s the truth so say his men,
In lies they spin.