Attritions

The truth lies buried under ground
Your incredulity and your frown
Play games across your face
As if the small attritions trace
The subject from some secret noun
The grammar from Hussein, the clown

Hussein’s gnat-like buzzings oh so shrill
Common lies from the liberal will
The dancing in the liberal street
All coagulate at your feet
Wrapped in hatred so vile a crown
One wonders if you’ll in it drown

And once again, you look askance
The obvious touch of circumstance
Of hate-filled souls who cannot gauge
Their master’s evil heritage
It is not Hussein who leads the dance
He’s but a pawn without a chance

This pawn Hussein knows full well
He’s but messenger an empty shell
His job is to sell his evil way
To take home the prize on election day
He wants for all to share and dwell
With his great master down in Hell