MONEYFESTO

This is the land of black stars

Home of pot bellies and golden jars

Where professionals work in "Chop Bars"

Corruption lies like sea sand;

Welcome to my Motherland.

Here, we choose to decide whose turn it is to precide

To take the the four-year ride,

A position of fame and pride.

Emblems and party logos are carried by youths in party "shottos";

Pass by house windows and pick up word-blows:

The umbrella vrs the elephant,

The cock vrs the banker;

Turn on the media

And hear explanations from Wikipedia.

Some call it Election Fever

Or perhaps, an Upgraded Myopia.

Promises sound at dusk, dawn and morn

Most, obviously still-born:

"Joy for mourns;

No tears or fears".

Seasonal Economists analyse and critize

Uncustomized friends turn foes;

The beginning of the Moneyfesto.

Plans are made and common sense fades

Projects are are rushed and roads, finished in a flash.

Keep silent, or write a song

Anything else said is considered wrong.

This is black star land,

A location with no spending bans.

Then they read out their Moneyfesto,

A four-year mega harvest plan

With no regard for the poor's fund.

The Moneyfesto is criticized by most,

Usually many, and then forgotten

As we scream under visual incantation

To see the "Pot Bellies", who live to see our lives withered

With vain words and mouths buttered.

Then a month after election day,

We are back to our fate and our necks feel like they gonna break,

Then we rush like a dammed lake

Against the readers of the Moneyfesto,

A knowledge of our new foes.