A hundred fists appear glued to dancing cakes
Truth’s gaunt face peeps from the shadow
In the rear a cheesy justice chalking another poster
A mockery of Truth swears to spin something.
Silently the screen is lowered. The feed, collective greed
Fueled on years of grease, she’s combusting in full-swing
Bats flutter around the congregants at their altar
The poster’s words stoke old hatreds to an orange glow.
Gather cloth and ilk, a pastor and a flock of sheep
A range of confounded penitent aggressors cheap
If you ever feasted fat now bleat a cancerous scam
Flatter swarm the rotting flesh, all but the wicked weep.
The cowering conscience of the captured souls
like bats defiled return to our honoured cove
Dividing scraps with greasy hands in loot soiled sand
Peer new eyes from the wings, ‘Attend the Sober words herein.’