The nation has elected a vampyre to the highest office in the land, a man who lives by magic and drinks the blood of our forefathers, intent only on draining the lifeblood from the country and throwing away the husk.

Mozart had his magic flute
And Jason had his fleece
Obama has his magic suit
Cleaned, pressed, with sharpened crease
The suit conceals the truth inside
Conceals the shadowed form
Conceals what O prefers to hide
That he is cold, not warm
There is no pulse, no beating heart
The magic does it all
He sleeps all day, light, sun depart
And wakens at the call
Of those like he he’ll rise and meet
And smell the nightshade bud
He’ll prowl the darkened narrow street
And drink the nation’s blood

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