As They Sing For Our Troubles

We all hammock between two political parties Swaying, side to side; as they sing for our troubles Blowfish, blowing bubbles; they're-filthy harpies -In branches without roots, yes, we're in their clutches Each one of us is toeing a line of their rhetoric Each one puts their own, cross in that ballot box Hoping the sun stays warmish, somewhat mesmeric Blind—can't anyone see during each new, Equinox? The changing of the guard carries no real power Each is just a puppet moon controlling a sea-tide Between two shores that never alter or empower Centre they sit polar north & south, satisfied. Whoever rules for them, it doesn't have to matter Long as people are trussed up in wire mesh hammocks It rains down the thunder, or they're rising to scatter Like autumn leaves, we're all drained by these maggots.