Sycophant

Impotent tyrants attempt to squeeze their people dry,
Try as they might, they still feel themselves decaying,
As if in that singular moment they might die,
And any power they have in the world might rest abating.
But that’s what they want,
To bleed their peoples dry,
To create an army of false, adoring sycophants,
Forever a slave, to their lies.

They feed the masses their lies,
As the masses are oppressed, beaten into submission.
But there are some who are tired, some who will rise,
And they shall free the masses,
As the tyrants of old pass from the world.

Sic semper tyrannis,
Oath of the oppressed,
The masses shall rise; vae victis.