But When You Talk About Destruction

Once there was a great nation

That was accursed by a faction

Of Dark Riders clad in blue.

Their leader was George I.

Their-members cried discrimination

(A most destructive label)

Whenever they were begrudged

What they wanted.

With much time and practice

They were most able

To bend the law of the land

To accomodate

This most accursed fable.

At last the countrymen ,

The Pale Riders,

Were given a most

Competent leader

Named Donald I.

The Dark Riders

Stopped at nothing

In their attempt

To depose him.

They opened a bakery

Where pastries were served

Upon many a colorful table.

The bitter was always

Confused with the sweet

Once having dined there

One was nevermore stable.

One was truly enslaved

By a second sad birth

Having cut the umbilical cable.

One was given a sign

Of total submission

To the dictates of mighty George,

A mask over the mouth

And a stamp upon the hand

And a sundown curfew.

These were all one needed

To fight in the army

That desperately aimed

At deposing Donald.

The bakery was opened

Day and night

Of course.

Happy people never went there.

It was destined to attract

Only the angry, the bitter, the lonely.

Folks say it will never close down.

It will never for good

Lock its door.

It will always appeal

To certain broken of heart

Whose lost mirage

It wrongly promises to restore.

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