Only the portrait of the Lord sits askew
On the wall of my being torn and bleeding
Where a fear I have nursed for years is lurking.
For them I love to go on record for now
As they have taken pains to plough
What they call their ideals to endure
The ravages of time with a sinecure
To relax on the verge of a struggle
To make things appear a bit more supple.
An ideologue ours or yours is a human being
And his propensities are not in a sling.
If an agonized cry or two is heard
Look not even if it is another body charred.
Sacrifice is a virtue too great to be extolled
For the new dispensation all of you will be enrolled.
The men with the flair for history will do a job
None of the men will complain they will rob
The dignity of each of the men frigid and stale
Whose breath will be preserved in a gale.
Plethora of phantoms for the show of might
They will be decisive in putting in place what is right.
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