Sordid screaming screeches for the lime light,
In form of sweet whistles of agenda.
No farces do we fight- candles we light,
To strike at aesthetics, no placenta.
And so the crocodiles gather to mourn,
Plastic masks, layered second we have worn.
For the namesake- names by which we have sworn,
Winners of the bullets, those who were torn.
The great fallacies of humanity,
Echo transitions to insanity.
Run your campaigns to make problems sub-side,
Run from your fears, show just tears, show your pride.
Oh! Such is one's denial of error,
Re-establishing the reign of terror.
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