They vie to lie, they don't even try,
To be anywhere close to being fair.
Greed in their gut, progress in a rut,
It's quite a gruesome affair.
To sell their souls, to run all the fouls,
Scruples are entirely optional.
They see it fit, if they can sit,
They drive destination to the wall.
Somewhere along the line, a climbing vine,
Starts to strangle the nation's throat.
Don't believe anything they tell, it's like hell,
To try to fight across the moat.
Here now and there, my mind I need to spare,
It's really all I have got with me.
Not anyone to talk, a superficial stock,
Of people around the poison tree.
