They buried the truth
And they freed the crows of lie
The so-called Fake News
They decoded the witchcraft formula
Turning the mob into a critical mass
Like a million needles that one wire
Threads them all
They sell the thick and sweetened fake
In sauce of "I, me, me,"
Which compresses them with warm air like a balloon
Turning into a big hot air balloon
Higher than the Empire State
larger than Stalin's picture
In a personal worship parade
They tear down all the ties of regulation
That were connecting the control mechanisms
Of democracy
And they spread it helpless out
On the ground
Then they march at the top of the wooden soldiers
The Zombies who are controlled by one password
Trample the scattered debris
18 October, 2020
21 October 2020 (corrected)
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