He favors tailored navy blue suits that look exactly the same
And white shirts decorated with solid silk ties
Perfectly pinched below the Gordian knot
That binds him to the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
He majored in deception and has picked many a pocket clean
Wearing his practiced smile of starched white teeth
Flashing like a strobe in an after hours club.
He reached the top the old fashioned way —
Taking credit for other people’s ideas
Daggering them in the back with whispers made of lies.
No one knows what he really thinks and neither does he
Because he thinks like the people he seeks to please.
Now that he’s reached the top there is nothing left to steal
No one with whom to share a thought
Only angry ghosts seeking revenge.
Who shall shed a tear
For the sycophant king?