The Demagogue

 A proud look -  A lying tongue - and hands that let innocent blood.  

.. that let and wring and wrench and beckon and plead and sanctify.
.. that hold this self-made casualty, now martyr to the sky.
.. that arc the course from hurt to act -  one choice? No choice at all.
.. appeal and mold and wool minds' eyes by filling hearts' deep call.

Be wary the path that's stained and stains with primrose and bountiful blood.
Respect this so 'rightfully-won-by-the-rules' ruling class or beware and be dunned.

Be met by furtive snarls hidden deep inside too fulsome smiles.
And just beyond dark circling need.. lies the yoke.. and the right.. and the piles.

The bloodlust fills your ears as the crowd's leering jeers willing on, making pay, playing part..
and the bile fills the coffers.. giving rule to the toffers.. as they scoff through their teeth.. like it's art.