You live the season of grovel,

Of royal visits, Nobel Prize.

A gaudy blanket of faint praise

Spreads out before your very eyes,

And no one makes a mention of

Your record of pathetic lies.

 

You’re sitting on your gilded throne,

Accumulating all your cash;

You take revenge upon your foes

While spouting out your daily trash,

And will not bother to turn up

And fight the climate’s coming crash.

 

Meanwhile, the oceans are rising;

The planet perspires from heat,

But none of this will be discussed

By those who grovel at your feet,

And through your loud-mouthed inaction

Our tragic prospect is complete.