Your goals are not known to me,
Nor the minions under your command.
When questioned you respond with rhetoric,
Which threatens the solace we have at hand.
Your face is etched with a grin,
After leaving behind laughing matters.
You wave your banner du jour fervently,
Ignoring the fact it is clearly in tatters.
Your eyes wide shut you cry havoc,
And let slip the dogs of your torpor.
If you are not willing to lift a finger,
What the hell is this eternal battle for?
Your mind suffers from disconnect,
Even as your mouth fires off a volley.
My own ethics be damned for I do dream,
Of being able to document your fatal folly.
Your deficiencies are not unique,
Regardless each day they chip away.
In this bedlam for second rate crooks,
Is there any justice card left to play?
Your character is known by most,
Whispers precede all your appearances.
The lowly audience knows your failures,
Ever diligently sharing their experiences.