The war plans painted are novel and new
In the image of corpses lit red, white and blue.
“Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Speech”,
and the ribs of a dead ones in the desert to bleach.

Once a year, at the State of Confusion
Bush serves up war for Holy Communion.
Something like this our guide had to tell,
Breath offensive it wreaked of death’s smell.

Shouting “God, God” from upon the Congress high
As the Devil’s own Sabbath train whirled on by
President, preacher, reverend, Dr. Death
What are you high on, could it be crystal meth?

He chooses his text in the book divine
Tenth verse of the Preacher in Chapter Nine.
All in attendance seemed to hold their breath
Lest they lose the least word of dear Dr. Death.

Whatever he preached, he gave you his word,
the meaning was empty for all those who heard.
Famous preachers there have been and be,
But never one unconvincing as he.

As for Saddam’s sins, Bush knows just whose
But sinners are plenty, you selectively choose.
War by tomorrow, a nervous nation he led,
And we feared he was digging a trench for our bed.

Throughout the great hall,
Become a death ball
The call for service world-wide was heard
From the raspy throat of the little man nerd.

Howling to congressional shapes as they pass
Soon will be Arabs breaking like glass
And you know who his real listeners be?
People, who are frightened, just like you and me.

As Bush rides on, the road grows strange,
All the milestones into headstones change.
The wreckage of war, so plain to see,
Is endorsed by the son with an awful glee!