He draws himself up, as if playing a part,
And his words squeeze forth like the sneakiest fart:
‘We were all there, so it’s no use pretending.
We made this mess that seems so unending.’
‘So you wish to deny it; I see that you would,
But I insist that you listen, and you certainly should!’
He beckons you over, as if in cahoots
And you cover your nose at the smell of old fruit.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ he wheezes and squawks,
‘Of a once-great land ruled by eagles and hawks.’