Witch Hunt

On the wind, in the water

or sleeping under soil,

perhaps descending from the sun —

diabolical anti-fun is embroiled

in the roiling elements,

the world serpent, around you, coiled.

Caught in such mortal turmoil

with no portal through which to escape,

an ape-descended girl or boy'll

no doubt reach their boiling

point in short order,

and the dime-and-quarter courts

never rule in favor of the brick-and-mortars,

the mom-and-pops.

Working class ass-kicking never stops.

Grass flicking and flittering in the breeze,

not a care, growing only to appease

the hungry world all around it.

Poor old plant didn't deserve what it got,

served with a blight of ergot,

forced to poison the fragile minds

of its once-humble symbiotes.

Then, the tables turned faster than coats

in a violent coup.

We cared not whether it was really true,

whether there really were witches among us,

for our brains were wholly rotted

by that unholy bitch of a fungus

pressing buttons, throwing switches,

like the opening bell of a boxing match, rung us.

Round one went to hell

quicker than Avada Kedavra:

"Robbery, rape and murder in the light of day,

no need to bother with a balaclava

so long as your target was one of the 'others.'

Never mind if you used to be brothers,

that was then and this is now,

just ride the hedonistic swell! Fun!

They already butchered the sacred cow

and had the audacity to serve it up well done!

So you gun down those blasphemers

like a good soldier, son,

and sing the hymn of snapping ribs and femurs.

Schemers like lemurs among chimps,

hunted simply for sport!"

That's about how it went,

that's about how it's going,

and although it's been badly bent,

I believe the truth is still worth knowing.

I like to think I'll know it when I see it

in the eyes of honest folk

who don't like to choke down the taste of Kool-Aid,

who believe that unjust rules

were made to be disobeyed.