Parade

A parade under sullen skies
Mimes and jesters in the flow
They glance up at the puppeteer
And swear that he is not their god

A madman pulling on the strings
Spewing fabrications, blatant lies
The parade slows to an angry halt
Convinced of his insanity

The psychotic insists on a wall
A barricade, far from humane
The tired and poor now at a loss
Uncertain status on their backs

But the wall will be fractured
Billions spent to no avail
Yet the puppeteer instills the fear
While mimes and jesters quickly pale.