Whose town this is I think I know
His home is white as softer snow
He will not watch us as we go
To protest lies that brought him low.
He gives each spoken word a shake
And never ponders one mistake
The only sound the wind can make
To bend them low and nation break.
My fellow Libs must think it odd
To fret about such things as fraud
Between defense and spending spree
The darkest days are yet to be.
Our country’s blighted, debt is steep
Corruption rampant, roiling, deep
But we have promises to keep
And miles to go before we weep
And miles to go before we sleep.