Man of the people
Stands on his steeple.
Spewing only lies
That the public buys.
He speaks of the truth
To bolster his booth.
'Join me, my fellows! '
Does his voice bellow.
A voice of honey,
He's made of money.
Sickeningly sweet.
Yet none have him beat.
A fake smile does hide
That which lie inside.
His heart is all dark.
He bears the true mark.
One alone must rise.
Render truth from lie.
I shall take the task.
Make him shed his mask.
And so, I shall stand
With rifle in hand.
Shall aim as I must,
To do what is just.
Tonight, o', tonight.
The dust shall he bite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem