The Land of the Free quakes,
Disaster looms above,
Or so it’s said,
Many believe it to be so,

Neighbours look sideways at one another,
Rights become targets,
For the firing squad that is corruption,
Few tears are shed,
Even fewer protests are uttered,

Division and hatred,
These weapons of mass destruction,
Maybe orchestrated by a court of white,
Filled with a rogues gallery,
In business suits and colourful badges,

Led by something of a jester,
With delusions of grandeur,
Possessing a nationalist baton,
And a dangerous red button,
Poking the bear and dragon,

The time has come,
A red mushroom cloud erupts,
In the shape of a pachyderm,
The Land of the Free is no more,
The world is ending.

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