People tend to blindly march to the beat of a steady drum,

Deafened by the rhythm, not able to hear the warning hum.

Not seeing beyond their upturned nose,

Believing comfortable lies, ignoring the truth however it shows.

“The mainstream news is fake,” that’s what they say

“They feed us propaganda, but we won’t sway,”

“Our leaders don’t lie and we will not revolt

In any way to harm the cult.”

They cheer while their pockets are emptied dry,

Still wave the flags and never ask why.

Promises dressed in crude disguise,

Smoke and mirrors before their eyes.

Neighbours turned to enemies overnight,

Questioning reason, defending, in spite.

Trading free thinking for tribal cheers,

Feeding anger and fuelling fears.

Like sleepwalkers wandering through a naked flame,

Never stopping to question the odious game.

Until the dawn breaks cold and clear,

And truth at last is forced to appear.

The drumbeat fades, the spell is gone.

They wake and see who  marched them on.

Turkeys no longer blind to the knife,

Realising they voted against their own way of life.