Dear Mr Bush, the dispersal of the bombs caused the world to cry.
The impressive deception of the arms race.
Our expensive taste, waiting to waste. Well we’re only human, oh maybe that’s the disgrace.
Faced with destruction, we’re out of place.
Shards of bitter broken glass hit the floor.
Taking you back to the days of the cold war, with war torn excuses that you’ll die for.
You should answer for: ‘We’re not safe anymore’.
‘The land of the free and the home of the brave’ grows as they flee.
They’ll know your oil was free, but they aren’t free. And that’s your legacy, alongside their ‘glee’.
And apply your knowledge genius, as they plea.
And your time is almost up. We won’t trust.
The gust of Katrina and our disgust. The economy: bust. And Iraq: your lust.
But at least there wasn’t radioactive dust.
Yours sincerely,
Yours truly.