There’s something wrong; it’s in the wires; my head
Is throbbing, and I’m sure if we could speak
More freely I could find out what was said
In secret airports, globally, then leak
It to the media, but then, they too
Are enemies of ours, like Jesuits,
Illuminatoes, Masons, Russkies, Jews…
The evidence is there for all of it,
I know they ruined all my shows, or sent
Through airwaves frequencies designed to tune
My teeth on edge, the calls, the billions spent
To scan the messages in selfies, fake the moon–
It’s all connected at the source, I bet–
The brain, the coin, the talk, the bank, the net.
A call is placed from Spicer—high alert!
The trusted men and women straggle through.
Attorneys prod and poke and lift the skirts.
He’s looking for the source, whose ass he’ll chew.
The accusations fly across the room.
iPhones are grabbed, the tablets nabbed—adieu
To your career, if secrets found—you’re doomed.
“Confess!” he yells, while staring down his crew.
Their protestations counter every charge
Of treason Spicer lays on his new guard.
The tempers flare in people small and large,
Their reputations questioned, threatened, marred!
I pity them, who take the fall for me,
Though all I say is, “coffee, Sean, or tea?”
—GSU, TEU, SF