Just a Symptom

Mister Trump
Is the lump
That you find
In your breast

His soul
Like a mole
That looks different
From the rest

He’s that thought
In your head
You might be better
Off dead

That rasping in your lung
That strange taste on your tongue
That little twinge in your hip
That small sore on your lip

Just a sign of what’s coming
That something’s wrong with the plumbing
Of a rot deep inside
That a suntan won’t hide

He’s a symptom, that’s all
Just a small warning call
The pride before the fall
It’s okay. Build your wall.

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