Here, the pinnacle of cynical delights,
The rise of good intentions till they broke,
Getting what they asked for in a night,
Nothing left of happy helpless hope.

Can any now bereaved admit regret?
Supporters that disparaged, spreading doubt,
Rigged the game against their bets,
And whine about their losses even now.

Lesser is an evil none the less,
Resonating well in many minds.
For some a nation in distress,
For others just a stupid trick of time.

Toss all sad abstractions out the door
We know who hurts the worst—we are the poor.



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