Taken from The Book of Idiots

Chapter Four
(our two soldiers of fortune are recruited as World policemen)

The Sewer King contemplates the complex issues of world minions,
seeks here and there from flatterers such agreeable opinions
as would turn a fisticuffs into a full blown Armageddon
and fulfil his shoddy, so-called saintly ambition
to rule the world; Faithless Lieutenant cringes by his side,
a grey man who rules a far off, insignificant isle,
who dreams of empires, and smiles a sickly, saving grace;
envious rapture distorts his otherwise featureless face!
“A special relationship, sire, exists between yours and mine;
we two, together can police this troublesome quagmire.
Your hand and mine in friendship, this whole world clasps,
Salvation, my lord, from rank anarchy and collapse.”
“Speak, Lord Faithless Lieutenant, tell me what you see, }
let the cause be just for such a dangerous prophesy, }
(and make sure there’s enough bankable readies in it for me!) }
The Undertaker of Filth and World Decay
exhumes the images of siege and ritualised horseplay;
Here and there maniacs sieze the initiative of another uprising
to murder millions and impose another ruthless cleansing!
A story! A story! The Sewer King dictates, }
and shoves his fool back out, onto the stage }
to earn his keep in one more extrapolation of altered states; }
”My Lord, you do me more than my slight skill deserves!
Yet the more of dreams unfold a sorrier state of affairs.
Who could resist the solid foundation of this integrity?
A whole Nation believes it is the benchmark of international morality,
righteousness and honesty; a second coming, a twentieth century
new messiah in a land of golden opportunity.
Sits as Judge AND Jury, dispenses judgement circumspect }
fawns to its Allies and potential overseas markets }
(and hoards to itself it’s most profound military secrets!) }
Be-metalled, as a modern knight of the quickening death,
beyonetted end-forward, searching for that Herald of your last breath on earth,
head filled to bursting with Confidence’s confident sayings,
you heave about and deliver honourable, indecent slayings.
Shinybrite, sublime, a khaki clad eros,
wings on fire with his new, world killing ethos
of rigid right and worsening wrongs and crucified creeds,
where WEST meets EAST, and lays out the battle feast.
“What food is this?” a million slain already, my dear,
FREEDOM fells the iron restraints; old hatreds reappear.
Does anyone here remember hearing the TRUTH?
that reluctant phrase, that elusive gobble-de-gook……..
…there is no pain from it, that cannot be overlaid,
no searching revelation to wipe away your disdain;
you lurch from day to day and wonder for it all,
then out from your protective shell you finally crawl
to meet the dawn: a new age, my friend of indecent suffrage,
we are all nosed to the wheel in the name of fiscal carnage.