The clatter of the Guillotine is replaced by Democracy’s din.
Run out of town, banned From the stage. Writing’s burned. You Must have something good.
That bastard swagger Brings her to her knees, just like Every other time.
The deluded find Delight in devastation; The lucid bring light.
Tread lightly lest you Rouse the ire of our own Ready made lynch mob.
I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social