The Liberal Mind Running
The liberal mind doesn’t hurdle over its own prejudices
And grab onto the pockets of possibilities.
It hates the other runners.
It takes credit for everything that is good
And doesn’t realize that it is bad.
It pretends that it is happy
But grabs the starter’s pistol and shoots himself
In the head.
It is trapped in its good intentions
While rushing through its hatred to hell.
It calls everyone else bigots and doesn’t realize
That the accusation is the self-reflection,
The guilty trying to wash its own hands of it.
When the liberal calls you a fascist he does it with a salute
And a goose step.
Not a good bone in his body except the wish bone
Of being better than his competition.