Oh Tax Cut!Your Tax Cut! Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

O Tax Cut! Your Tax Cut!

O Tax Cut! your Tax Cut! its fearful trip is done,
The heist has weather'd every rack, the prize you sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, you donors all exulting,
While follow eyes the lobbyists' greed, the vassals grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck the Budget lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Budget! my Budget! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you red ink and ribbon'd debts—for you the poor a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their anxious faces turning;
Here Budget! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Budget does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My Budget does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The tax heist is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O rich, and ring O crooks!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Budget lies,
Fallen cold and dead.