The stream of consciousness through Donald's mind
portrayed in fragments in his hasty tweets
defies historians who'd hope to find
beneath the smoke, a trace of fire, or heat.
If one would speculate, there's just a hint
of what's the truth that motivates this liar.
That stream of consciousness' yellow tint
betrays what makes his basest synapse fire.
Reptilian drives for warmth, or mate, or meal
extend no further than his progeny.
Each one-night-stand's an unrelated deal
and nothing adds up to a policy.
His starlight promises, each dawn forgets;
Trump's lawyers hope to prove that it's Tourette's.
portrayed in fragments in his hasty tweets
defies historians who'd hope to find
beneath the smoke, a trace of fire, or heat.
If one would speculate, there's just a hint
of what's the truth that motivates this liar.
That stream of consciousness' yellow tint
betrays what makes his basest synapse fire.
Reptilian drives for warmth, or mate, or meal
extend no further than his progeny.
Each one-night-stand's an unrelated deal
and nothing adds up to a policy.
His starlight promises, each dawn forgets;
Trump's lawyers hope to prove that it's Tourette's.
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