Spitting On The Truthful Gate

He spat upon the truthful gate
When Bush was in his way,
And Cheney made desolate
His lies each and every day.
His tangled word-lies scored the sky
Like songs from ancient lyres,
And hate-filled libs just cried on high
When truth put out their fires.

His hate-filled lies appeared to be
The old crap in death lament,
His mouth was dark and watery
His stool he so easily spent.
His ancient bones of germ and birth
Were shrunken hard and dry,
His every word upon the earth
Seemed frivolous and awry.

At once his cries arose among
The dying embers overhead
For in the night arose a song
So empty as the dead.
The same old lies, without control
His brain did fast consume
And thus did fling his empty soul
Upon the growing gloom.

His dark soul did not even bring
A simple and sorrowful sound.
There was not a single one to sing
A song of sin profound.
Thought I there should have been
At least a sad or somber air
Some tune of hope of some chagrin
But for this I was unaware.