So that a certain stock at home might have grown?
Was a war promised to end, but kept on going,
While tons of bombs our planes were throwing?
The mastermind behind it all
Would gaze out on the Washington Mall,
And dream of the next dastardly plan
(and of his wallet getting fatter)
To see to it that the world was at our command
(and whose blood he next would splatter).
From Indochina to Chile . . . Bangladesh to East Timor:
Our graft was there,
The spoils we shared.
Democracy was snared.
Yet propaganda blared,
And no one cared.
We the People didn’t know;
There was no one to tell us so.
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