Cold Fish and Evil Clowns ~ Philip Brent

We have absolutely no idea how our world will change
Despite those who have wild hairs of how to rearrange
Someone may push a button, start the last of our wars
Perhaps we finally see the dream of having flying cars

What of the three-letter agencies hidden in plain sight
Who tell us they are around to save us from our plight
Is that the plight they have caused by their own deceit
Dirty dough, drugs, guns; more wrong that it’s discreet

Your mistakes, don’t fret; they listen to all that you say
At least it’s being recorded, to be tallied some fine day
Until you speak the trigger words only they may know
Then, you’ll no longer play, no $200.00, don’t pass go

You may have done nothing wrong but question, think
In their clutches you’ll give in, confess, turn into a fink
Just remember, what is wrong is something they decide
Softly persistent, convey your truth, secrets you confide