We’re told to respect,
but it’s not a toy,
this thing, we reflect,
we destroy,
as there’s clear destruction,
in what they tell,
crude revelation,
makes our hell,
who we loved,
makes us question,
angels, above,
create a tension?
They touched and felt,
those kids who smiled,
admiration melts,
we run a mile,
gracious hosts die,
when a mirror’s shown,
we believed in their lie,
that they had sewn
popularism is poison,
that we’ve drank down,
the land does moisten,
all around,
the votes we cast,
have led to war,
see a broken mask,
upon the floor,
those with badges,
do not protect,
such flippant flashes,
that do neglect,
those revered few,
are fading away,
nothing’s new,
in the everyday,
if life’s a card game,
we’re all bust,
to which, we exclaim,
who can we trust?