He opened the floodgates, the fake tears poured out.
He was wringing his hands, to dispell any doubt.
He was on top of it, a small crowd had gathered.
They were impressed with the nonsense he blathered.
He felt so self righteous, he was doing such good.
He felt he was convincing, not misunderstood.
He almost believed in the things he was saying.
He fell to his knees, started keening and wailing.
He cried for the children, cursing the rights NRA.
He instigated the crowd into murder that day.
The crowd went on a rampage, they looted and killed.
He was successful, the mob did as he willed.
He was so caring of others, he was almost a saint.
The fools that he lied to could not see the taint.
The taint of dishonesty, the fake pulling of hair.
The fake tears for the children, he did not really care.
His virtue signaling done properly, sucked the crowd in.
They were rounded up quickly with his self-righteous spin.
The children weren’t served, he spread Satan’s hating.
He moved to the next corner, another soapbox was waiting.
He had a huge well of lies and unused fake tears.
He loved inciting riots and mongering fake fears.
D.L. Crockett — 7/24/22