The Newspaper

I’m tired of the newspaper, Defeated and ashamed, For story after story features He-who-can’t-be-named. But even worse, the toadies Who bow down and kiss his toes Are gloating with their power Which nobody will oppose. We’re headed for disaster Yet it’s difficult to care Because the news assures us That, already, we are there. Our nation once was mighty, Opportunity did shine, But that’s the case no longer Since nobody has a spine.