People

I fear that masses are being castigated,
For the vices of a single man,
A fine line lies betwixt leaders and despots,
Power can be reaped dishonestly,
And often is,
Then wielded against citizenry and neighbour alike,

The people are not their nations sins,
Nor its aggression,
The people do not crave bloodshed,
Even soldiers rarely wish to kill,
They too cry as bombs drop over borders,
Not a KGB smile to be seen,

So before labelling them marauders,
Devils in human guise,
Just remember,
We the people,
They the people,
All are people.

Sycophant

There are foes abound,
Demons in yellow and blue,
It is them in the wrong,
So we absolutely must muscle in on our peers,
Brother leader wouldn’t lie to us,
He is defending us from democracy,

I’m a sycophant they decree,
Beholden to a tyrant in a rusty crown,
But I’m a patriotic Russian,
I have blood on my hands they say,
That we’re populating orphanages,
But I quite like the colour red,

One man chose this war,
And he tells us it is for us,
So we are the rightful aggressor,
State media wouldn’t lie to us,
So we’ll be cheering and raving,
Even as the mushroom clouds sprout,

Ura!