Honor Among Thieves

Trump got shot. Biden got old. But either way, America got sold. Some people say it changes. Some people change instead. But the world keeps on turning. Spinning on its head. And the sun keeps on burning. Burning across the sky. People say it’s different now. But I don’t know why. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s different. The water still tastes the same. The poisons and plastics still stick to your brain. The price of poison is on the boom. People are still scared to leave their room. Four guns per person ain’t enough to kill the fear. We’re governed by fear now. It’s always here. Like a devil or demon whispering in our ear. Fear finds strength in numbers. Safety in a crowd. So, crown yourself the king of clowns or stand way back apart. But never give your vote, my friend, unto a foolish heart. We’re all fools now. Reason made a run for the border. Without love insanity reigns, or so I’ve heard. We’re still believing every foolish word. Dancing in the dark. Waiting for a spark. Will it make a difference? We ain’t got a clue. Bury your head in the sand. Just hope it ain’t true. The heat is hot. The wind is cold. The rain falls wrong. The sun roars. The land burns. The clouds linger too long. Floods fall from Grace. The hungry crieth unto Heaven. Nature is contorting like the face of a politician. Maybe it’s just intuition. The world is warped. Barbarians are at the gates. Romans charge admission. Profiting off the death and decay.

Come on all ye people. Don’t be led astray.

Hurricane Donald tears through towns and families, liberating the thieves and liars. Pretty sure it’s true. I can still see the fires. But at the end of the day, what does it matter if what was done in the dark is now done in the day?

Robinhood was a thief and a hero, if only because the Kingdom was so corrupt that only thieves could still seem honorable. Honor among thieves. Wasn’t that the notion of this whole damned Republic? And when the thieves aren’t so honorable, we act so surprised and shocked. What did we expect? That the thieves we elect would be choirboys?

Crumbling the last old architect, poisoned by his own misbegotten rhetoric. The glorification of the outlaw comes back to bite a society that has long since outgrown the beastly wilds from which it was birthed. But some of its denizens still remember, deep in their blood, what it was like to be wild and free. Society may have grown, but its chains are more binding, its leashes much more short. The wild chafes at the chains. It yearns to be free again. It yearns to roam again. It yearns to be wild again. It can’t be talked to. It can’t be reasoned with. Madness seeps into its mind, like a feral animal, caged and tormented for too long. But after so long in a cage, it’s bound to bite back.