Source:
Adults
Author:
Stuart Johnson
Title:
Press-modeus
This empty dim-lit office, of humanity bereft This steaming black lair, the cleaners have long since left Just I, and I alone, with calculated diligence Hissing with the stench of cheaply earnt influence " You have the right to know " Even business that's not yours But who the hell am I to impose my moral laws?
A soul-less lonely pen-scratch, and sullen keyboard chatter As I snatch your private life away, and make you front-page-platter For the lustful ravenous masses, who pluck my column from the shelf Who can't form their own opinions, and despise your fame and wealth " You have the right to know " Veils this seedy tabloid fest Yet who the hell am I to decide what's for the best?
I barge my views to the front of the queue, I've got something to say Control your fear and feed your anger, such easily digested prey You don't want facts or truths, they only complicate Just swallow what you want to hear, I'll duly fabricate " You have the right to know " Is the feeble lame excuse And who the hell am I, with this power I abuse? With claws and talons fully drawn, I dismember any cultures That don't conform to my beliefs, and draw you in like vultures Nothing sacred in my world, just a scandal, falsehood vendor I dig the dirt and mix it up with political agenda " You have the right to know " It's your 'freedom' I defend But who the hell am I? And from where did I ascend? Press-modeus, well that's my name A product of infernal flame But it matters not from where I came It's where I'll take you, that's my game For now your media will always be blessed By my presence, every Journo soul possessed And soon you'll see the dreadful truth That your " Right to know " is a fraudulent spoof
Published on writebuzz®:
Adults
> Poetry
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