Democracy Dies by Suicide

Democracy dies by suicide,

Not in darkness or despair!

But at the sounding of the trumpets

Strewn with pomp and flair.

It marches right up to that golden altar,

A gait turns to a prance upon the steps.

It’s tickled as its inhibitions falter —

Orgiastic anticipation just before a

Sanguine mess!

Ah, it seizes firm that dapper dagger

And plunges deep into a stately heart,

Sending fast a simple mandate

For its spirit to depart.

The marinated meat is quick to spoil,

So it’s handed out to please the crowd

And alleviate some earthly toils.

Some parts still might be tough to chew

But at last the glory of the day

Belongs to you,

And you,

And you.