We trusted you then, what you said,
In tower dust, three-thousand dead.
So when you claimed a terrorist connection
To drones and weapons of mass destruction
From smallpox to lockjaw to castor disaster
And you warned us of impending doom,
In gun smoke clouds that mushroom,
We rallied to your call for war
To protect us from terrorists at our door.

You’re dead certain you had the nod:
You sought your counsel from your God.
You told the Amish, “I trust God speaks through me.”
To Abu Mazen, stating: “God told me
“To strike [at] al Qaeda and I struck them and then
“He instructed me to strike at Saddam.”
And you did, Mr. Bush. But damn,
If your God can’t predict the score,
Why listen to you or your God anymore?

 

You announced an end to major
Combat operations. Wager
You’d like to take that back. Along with “Mission
Accomplished,” “Turning point” and “Bring ‘em on.”
What else you got? As they stand up, we’ll stand down?
Stay the course? Though you deny it.
Did Australia’s PM buy it?
“We’re kicking ass” is what you swore.
Kicking ass? We don’t believe you anymore.

Came the surge, you did it again.
Saying with that dead certain grin,
As if going AWOL had no precedent,
You’ve left the war to the next President,
While you pursue lectures and fees, your legacy.
Replenish the coffers you said.
Yes. Filling coffins with the dead
Of those you order into war
Certainly raises the bar markedly more.

Ah, but you’re not willing to name
Yourself or your cronies to blame.
Nor do you explain the inconsistency,
Between God and laurels of victory.
The only thing dead certain is this certainty:
There’s nothing left for you or for
All those toadies who once praised you
And that lying God you prayed to
But a bitter grave to lie in evermore.