Nothing Sells Better than Permission to Hate -- Forsaken

"Nothing Sells Better than Permission to Hate"

I.
Though a mouthful of silver spoon
Might taint the tune
While attempting to croon
Make the blue collar swoon,
A paid pool of actors
Can ripple out laughter
Infecting the mob
So they miss the off key
Obvious sour C.
 
Then shed crocodile tears
Spiced by demographic fears
Charted over years
Drown out logic in cheers,
And leave kindness to the saints
Because nothing sells better
Than permission to hate.
 
II.
Some masturbate gleefully
At the bleating horribly
Issuing from scapegoats
As knives gnaw their throats,
Opening like spigots
So those claiming, "We're not bigots."
Can silently collect blood
To coat doorways
In the hope it dismays
Terrorist hordes hiding
In closets and under beds,
Around every corner --
Foreign, never U.S. bred --
Jihadists somehow ceasing at the sight
Of crimson innocence
Smeared like a liquid fence
Painted across the land,
Red yet strangely night,
As if doing so might
Conjure mystical walls
Behind which
Those with the biggest balls
Proudly hide,
Shouting, "Come at us with your acetone peroxide! 
We sacrificed the right people!
The emperor's new defense
Is as glorious as his clothes."
 
As such,
They enjoy the sparkling fuse,
The shameless joy
Of someone else to accuse
While holding the bomb
In their sweating palm.
 
III.
A wad of doughy dumpster meat
Does its best to excrete
Some semblance of humanity
Wrapped in Armani
Thinks itself bonny
Steps to the podium
Spewing toxic as plasmodium:
 
"The future is as golden as my towers."
 
But who reaps this future fortune?
No plute ever left a portion
Yet they own the penniless devotion
Of those holding a dreamy notion
Of a sanctified past
In stark contrast
To fact
Because truth isn't always beauty.
 
IV.
Disgusted and stunned
Borrow bits from Bob Hund
"Ett fall & en lösning...
släng på en smäll av en atombombsexplosion
...möt mig på andra sidan, annorlunda riktning."
 
("A case and a solution...
throw on a whack of an atombombsexplotion
...Meet me on the other side of the altered direction.")

"Forsaken"

It isn't odd
To find a man forsaken
By what he's mistaken
For a god.
 
Face first hitting a brick wall
Skull broken, set the pall.
 
Laying flowers
From Aaron's rod,
Sedum telephium,
and goldenrod,
 
Down by the lake inn
Whiskey-o'ertaken  
 
Let the can drool
An ocean of fuel
Cremation
The 13th station
Even at risk of firing squad
Strike the match
To erase the facade
 
Then use the ash to scrawl,
Paint a warning for all.