What prizes satin words afford!
our foreign ears made to boiling
with those that dine on finer things
describing our future delights
in fly by night campaign speeches.

Not David, but Goliaths chord
booms over the gathering throng
praising what god is left to us.
The world razed, we in its ashes,
they tell us that we are adored,

that they are umbilical cords
feeding us and making us strong.
The hollow message would echo
if the acoustics weren’t so wrong
resonating against the horde.

Insecurities long ignored
now awoken and brought along
to territories unexplored
carried away by sirens song
to rage and die on their own swords.