A silver tongue, a heavy cross,
A promise whispered in the shade,
He measured power by their loss,
And built a cage of fan-made jade.
From Indiana’s stifling heat
To jungle vines in Guyana’s gloom,
He drew the faithful to his feet,
And led them down the hall of doom.
A congressman in blood laid low,
Triggered the panic in his mind;
“The time has come for us to go,”
He left the human heart behind.
The stainless vats, the bitter drink,
The final, fatal, poisoned cup
They stood upon the final brink
And watched the poisoned sun go up.
Nine hundred souls, in silence bound,
Swallowed the lie he fed their breath;
A quiet fell upon the ground,
Where dark charisma welcomed death.
Through history’s pages, shadows creep,
Of Pied Pipers with hollow eyes,
Who lead the vulnerable and sleep
Beneath the wreckage of their lies.
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