The Demagogue

A proud look -  A lying tongue - and hands that let innocent blood
 
.. that let wring wrench beckon plead and sanctify
.. that hold their careful casualty, a sceptre to the sky
.. that arc the course you're hurt to act - there is no choice at all
.. appeal and show the mold and wool minds' eyes by daunt by call
 

so 'rightfully-won-by-the-rules' ruling class
and you can hear the demand the dun the spine
 
furtive snarls hide fulsome smiles
And just beyond
 dark circling need
    lies the yoke.. and the right.. and the piles.
 
blood lust in your ears as the crowd's leering jeers
 willing on, making pay, playing part..
and the bile fills the coffers, given flight by the toffers,
 as it's scoffing through teeth.. like it's art.