The Battle Hymn of January Sixth. . .



Mine eyes have seen the worst of him, as he calls out to his horde, 
Trampling through our hallowed halls where history is stored.  
He has cast his hateful lies about, as like a sharpened sword.  
His lies keep marching on.

I have seen him filled with bluster as he speaks of what he's done,
And his worshippers fall silent as he tells them he's the one.
I can see the losing battles that he told us he had won.
His lies kept marching on.


His hate still burns within us, where it's buried long and deep,
And his lies, like mournful voices, keep marching through our sleep.
We have so much to abandon and so little fit to keep.
His lies kept marching on.

I have heard his ugly gospel that he spewed like flames of fire,
And his prophecy of evil from the swamp of muck and mire.
He will live in utter failure from now until the pyre.
His lies at last are gone.


by John Watson




 


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