This Time for Sure
See him as he spits and splutters
Hear him as he tries to speak
None can parse the noise he utters
Most just think him lame and weak
See him flail about and flutter
Grasping at each passing straw
Drowning in his sewer gutter
Going down in shock and awe
Calling for a czar to salvage
Failure. No one? Change the name!
Now solicit one to "manage"
"Execution" of the blame
Magic phrases are not working
Far too many now we've heard
Still his own chain he keeps jerking
Looking only more absurd
See him glower; see him threaten
Hear the hippies laugh and sing
How can this vain Texas cretin
Hope to frighten any thing?
I know what: let's blame Jane Fonda!
How about we take a poll?
Blame Mercedes or blame Honda!
Our own virtues, let's extol
Let's impregnate Gail and Trisha
Let's shout "We are number One!"
Let's "bear arms" in our militia
Let's sell crazy kids a gun
Whoopee! Ain't this empire crumbling?
Haven't we made one fine mess?
Still, who dares decry our bumbling?
Who expects us to confess?
Think of Cheney in his bunker
Knock on Dubya's wooden head
See Alberto cringe and hunker:
Can't recall a thing he said
Thus spake Bullwinkle, the genie,
Cartoon prophet; antlered freak:
"Teeny Weenie Chili Beanie!
Spirits are about to speak!"
Now you see our situation
If you understand at all
Wonder not then that our nation
Had a choice and chose to fall.
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2007