It was all wasted on you—the nice clothes,
The hair, the professional education.
And you made something of yourself as well.
You rose to a height where future favor
Required compromise, pretense and lies.
You met Mr. Orange Noggin and from there
Descent was swift into his vat of slime.
Just a few things were required of you:
Lie to the courts, persecute his enemies,
Ignore the Constitution and the rule of law
Or rather endorse his malignant will
As the highest law and the supreme good.
Is there anything you wouldn’t do for him,
Any law or norm or common decency
You wouldn’t subvert so that you might bask
In the radioactive glow of his regard?
Of course not. He has made you his imp of woe.
You’re highly ranked among his knaves and fools.
Still, karma collects the price for evil deeds.
His vengeance has turned your soul to pus and soon
Your body will slouch into a hyena’s form.
You’ll prowl around on four legs, sniff the air
For blood. Someone will lead you out on a leash
Into a forever darkness quite like your own.
