Who knows what, in the next four years,
The man who feeds his nation's fears
Will do to nourish hate abroad
And carry out the will of God?
Not George Bush, scary as he seems,
But Karl Rove, architect of dreams,
And warped boy genius of the right
Whose tricks secured election night.
Once, long ago, he babysat
The drunk, obnoxious frat-house brat
Who'd mastered all the deadly sins.
The rest is history: White House wins,
A leader who's so born-again
You'd think he hatched from God's own brain,
And four more years to stretch the truth
Because Rove saved a misspent youth.
To members of the George Bush clan
Who like to talk straight man to man,
Karl Rove's the "blossom in the turd,"
The wide-eyed, gung-ho backroom nerd
Who raked up muck and sifted crap
To make a rose-red victory map.
Why does he do it? Heaven knows,
But where shit happens, Karl Rove grows.
-john allemang |
