The March

How meekly march the millions
To the statist’s steady drum;
How passively they plod along,
All singing the same song:
Left, right, left, right,
To glory days ahead;
Left, right, left, right,
We’ll go where we are led.

How malleable are the masses
Melted in the master mold,
All tribal tied, wings kept clipped,
From cradle to the crypt:
Left, right, left, right,
We won’t stray out of line;
Left, right, left, right,
Together we’ll be fine.

How blind they go with blinders,
Seeing only what they’re shown;
How ...