The Leader

He stood on the stage, and,

Looked at the crowd his people,

Then he began to speak the

Crowd went berserk,

He carried them along, some

of them cried, some laughed,

Some screamed his name.

He swayed them like a pendulum

It was madness in the crowd 

They would die for him they

Were his people.

He owned the stage, he owned

them.

It was so easy he thought 

to feed them lies,

To raise them to a frenzy.

And thus he spoke, and they 

listened,

One day they who made him

a leader,

 Put a bullet in to him, and made him a martyr,

People screamed, people cried,

they followed his body.

And they remember him as

a great leader.

Now another has taken his place,

And the crying frenzy, screaming continues,

Till the ones who made him

Will put a bullet in him,

 

 For leaders are born every day

   But martyrs are but rare

  

 Martyrs are remembered,

   Leaders are forgotten.