The Politricks of Men


In this crusty old world
Where the corrosive stench of corruption
Is the medicinal smell of oligarchs
The elixir of their synthetic happiness

Their opiated concoction mixed in the crucible
Of wretched and haggard democracy
Is forced down the throats of mortal men
Who jump like electrocuted humanoids.

The sour residue of the old cliche,
Once echoed in the streets of Athens,
Piles of centuries long lost in the mist of time
The old monstrous hydra
Now sowed in the hands of
Demi gods with muddy feet

That word that sores every tongue-democracy,
The stench of politics
Bought by the currency of lies and undiluted skirmishes
By super-big bullish corporate companies.

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