Lost In Fog

At night in the pitch black The stars shine, and the onion Moon's light makes eyes glow. In the cold light of day they stand And look. Their winter's fleece Is a very warm coat. They don't know about heaven, They don't understand economics Either. They have one purpose. They are lambs for the slaughter. To feed those who are not hungry. They end their short lives in utmost fear. Their counterparts are the same, Their eyes glow, but for power. They Wear winter coats too, and hats. Only it's us, the people they fleece. In the cold light of day they lie, Though not on the ground. Their's is a different lie. They lie Because they don't know what They are doing, inexperienced In statesmanship. They are not Lambs to the slaughter, we are. They cover lies with even more lies. They say sacrificed lambs won't Go to heaven, they say no animal Does, but these counterparts will. Always lusting for power and fame, Taking ill-gotten donations to keep That power with naked impunity. Their green fields are hard concrete: But, they are just dismasted boats at sea, That ship that has long lost its rudder. Like sheep they limp along month in month Out while leading us all by the nose. They Act like sheep lost in fog, and we all suffer.