by Nick Gisburne
A frightened flock of idiotic sheep
Too ignorant to look where they are led
Deception buys their terror, quick and cheap
A fog, a mist of madness, fills the head
As though their eyes are blinded by the sun
Or something in the psyche blows a fuse
The more they have to fear, the more they run
The mindless masses, hungering for news
Performing puppets, pieces in a game
Positioned at the will of those they serve
So simple to manipulate, or blame
Whenever their reactions touch a nerve
A trick, a trigger: “Danger on the way!”
And all the little sheeple come to play
