The Bigot
By Malcolm Moss •
The Bigot
I sit here with my viewpoints set in stone
Con-firm-ed by the media and know
That I must into earnest battle go
Confirm my views and not let ideas grow.
My ancestors have died for king and clan
And lived in hell to reach the Promised Land
I am obliged, their memory to affirm
Or live my life a wretched, worthless, worm
Don’t ask me to create my views, anew
To work my brain, and be untrue.
It’s safe for me to be that which I am
My father’s son, my nation’s pride, old Sam
Daunted not by those with other themes
Who spout at length their wanton, wily schemes
They say they want the truth, I can’t agree
Why can they not all just be just like me?