Oligarchy is too obscure for relevance
In the eyes of the subterranean mass
Are we fools enough to imagine ourselves
Under democracy; don't answer that, royal pray-ers
God's sham ripples still in this Under Rod pledgefield
Patsy-riot lays on cheap couches, imagining that
Legislators, judges, and those executives
Have interests that aren't exclusively compounding
For their grandchildren and friends
To vote for a person is autocracy with extra steps
Whipsaw political disc horse, ridden hard up to the
Two if by land: and we fenced in our tanks (or let
Them do so), we dependents, we shepherd guided
Slip down slopes and fall in love with leadergrips
It's a bundle of stickball, entertainment, thank you
For smoking us out until we quench the flame
With what it deserves: thirst thistle water
To quiet embers to ash and raze the obelisks
From their penile towers to become long bricks
On which a demos can be however informed
Whoever they are
And in fact determine our fate
Without con-grist, junk-dish-airy, or had-bin-diss-titration
Roman Ryan 