On the Sheperds who hide their own agendas, and the people who follow them blindly.

FLIGHT OF THE LARK

The lark soars higher in the sky,
Rising higher, as if to defy,
The pull of gravity and nature,
Over many an occupied pasture,
Filled with stale and thoughtless sheep,
Always collecting what others reap,
As crooked sheperds lead them on,
Rejoicing in how easily they've won,
The sheep's blind loyalty and minds,
Posing as leaders most refined,
Yet hiding deep and horrid actions,
With endless speeches and distractions.
And when sheep rise and solemnly stare,
And call for sheperds to lay it bare,
The Sheperd's Crook becomes a spear,
Swinging and killing those they fear,
So no one threatens their Divine Right,
For God has given him the might,
To survive and rule their sheep,
Who from misery and hatred weep,
For the nation they have lost,
Surrounded with the deepest frost,
Minds freezing to paralysis of opposition,
Becoming pieces in a game of aquisition.
And above this scene far in the sky,
Our watchful lark soars oh so high.