A despot in
An icy fortress
Forcing hordes
Of labor forces
To export
His machinations
With no rest
Or compensations
To his greedy supplicants
Puerile pack
Of miscreants
Whose insolence
And sugar plums
As sweet as milk
And cookie crumbs
The funds through which
His child-fetish
Can be sated
Unmolested
Off to bed
And pleasant dreams
As he replays them
On his screens
And sees you when you wake
As well
That faker shakes
His jingle bell
And with his spying eyes
Sees all
His crystal ball’s
A shopping mall
Exalting in his thralls
We spend
A fortune
Glorifying his distortion
And belying
Of belief
In all things truth
With ploys of toys
Destroying youth
About the Creator
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