Stiff He Marches to a Different Tune

 

Stiff He Marches to a Different Tune

Tsar Putin, has ferreted away, a fortune, on his luxurious retreats,

While leaving, a class of people destitute, and begging, in the streets.

However, they dare not question, how the rubbles, are really spent,

And they’re too scared, to ask where, the hard-earned money went.

The people, are way too frightened, to take the old bull, by his horns,

For fear of invoking unkind retribution, and substantial thunderstorms.

With unwilling people, being bullied, then sent straight to the front,

To blindly face the fatal fire, as cannon fodder, to bear the lethal brunt.

His wealthy, privileged ruling class, ethnic Russians, enjoy the very best,

As they lead arrogant lives, of educated, caring very little, for the rest.

Across Russia, there are many restless factions, that fervently believe,

That their leaders mind, has slipped a cog, and gone away on leave.

With down beat words, forever fuelling, deep resentment of the rest,

His primeval policies, supressing simple people, leaving minds oppressed.

There’s little zest left now, in the fascist state, its socially separated,

Within the deathly silence, the FSB secret service, is vehemently hated.

The nation has been forbidden, in context, to utter, a specific word,

Even though, WAR is WAR! The people think, the prohibition is absurd.

While his toy soldiers, stiffly strut, upon the pavement, in Red Square,

All goosestepping in their stride, as they kick their toes, high in the air.

The rhetoric, Kremlin control, to dictate how, Russian youth is raised,

To breed loyal soldiers, of the state, off to war, with their future paved.