by Gerard Quain

Created on: October 06, 2010   Last Updated: October 08, 2010

Words drip from there tongues like rain on a window

These compulsive men believe what they're saying

The snakes have their forked tongues

But men in suits could put them to shame

The way they talk and pass the blame

But then that is the politicians game

Using many words to say nothing

Leaving us all in spin of their design

Drunk on power, short memories of the past

Look where they have taken us

Promises so easily made, soon forgotten

These men are makers of Trojan horses

For their good deeds, we get punished

Say no to their gifts, for in their giving lies the pain

For what they give, will surely cost us, again and again

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