Lies

“I cannot tell a lie,” he said.

“Chop down the cherry tree I did.”

The boy went on to be a man,

The father of a great great land.

Today that doesn’t seem the case,

When the president lies right to your face.

He throws his staff right under the bus,

Without a care, without a fuss.

How can he look you in the eye?

And spew another bald faced lie.

Then turn around and take it back,

He’s nothing but a lying hack.

No one’s immune, not friend or foe,

He’s set the standard of truth quite low.

By the seat of his pants he’s always flyin’,

If his lips are moving, he must be lyin’.

--Ken Ferguson--

Artista di Parole