The Third Way

Benito, your legacy has not been forgotten.
Stir the workers, stir the masses.
Take the hope from all the classes.
Cinch the rope, but give them passes
until Il Duce, The Great, amasses
enough corporate shills with spyglasses
to find the ones, those doomed to gasses.

You'll merge the two, won't you?
Those who employ, controlled by you,
those employed, brought low by you,
but they'll never see it true, for you,
Il Duce, Oh Sweet One, they'll come to you
with tribute, and hope, and everything due -
for none could be as shrewd as you.

And none could be as blind as they.
They'll take the shot, they will obey,
and pay, and pay, and pay, and pay
with all they have, they'll give the state,
and in dismay, they may yet stay
your vassals to your corporate play -
all in wake of war you'll make.

For war is all you really know.
In throes of green, and flows of greed,
you know the need to bring all low,
and so it goes that guns will go
to all of those of whom you hold,
who took the shot and sought to know
the throes of death on bloody knolls.

But all is well for those who sell
the ones most weak, who cannot tell
of the hell they endure, and there they dwell -
licentious hell, horrendous hell.
The hopeless yells, you know so well.
The cries and tolls of a lonely bell
that wails of a corporate death knell.

The flag, it flies, in lurid skies
behind the lies on missile sides,
to take your pride to those who die.
And those who die will change the tide
when those who live do take a side
to see an end to a corporate ride
where you preside in suicide.

And so it goes, as history flows,
and flows through endless throes
of human woes, and grievous tolls,
and lessons lost by those who chose
to forget the cost of selfish foes
who flippantly tossed it all away.
Corporate minded fiends...

who lost the way.