The host with pitchforks marches to the beat;
Bob Dylan's lyrics soaring in our throats.
When Miller's brownshirts shoot us in the streets,
We won't be begging him to let us vote.
The mob with torches owns the avenues,
when Hegseth calls our soldiers to"crusade",
a billion Muslims join with Sikhs, and Jews,
and--maybe--this is more than a parade.
"Appeal to Heaven" as Alito said
belongs to We the People, not to him.
nor to his party's venal orange head,
to honor or dishonor at his whim.
That gallows Stephen Miller raised so tall,
will lift him high, when he's cast down this Fall.
