It’s a game of misdirection
A sinister sleight of hand
Lecherous inflection
Aggrandizement of the bland
A ravenous flock of scavengers
Who much prefer the gristle
A merciless crew of ravagers
Who yearn to shock and bristle
A tiny matter of distaste
Splashed across the page
And expertly they roast and baste
To cultivate the rage
As we scream and clean our follicles
O’er the tiniest offenses
We cannot see the powers that be
Are blurring all the lenses
Somewhere the facts are thrashing
Trying hard to breach the surface
If it finds the shore it’s gasping
Wondering if the swim was worth it
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