Ted Cruz, A Lovecraftian Menace

He floats across a grand hall
His robe aflutter

Not exactly an angel
Not quite the devil either
No, merely a man
Walking flesh using earthly laws
For heavenly gain

A lich spins like god’s chosen orb
Dripping ink of the most opportune color
But ink can’t shake hands
It must foster an illusion
That hands were shook

 

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