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.