Elmore Evans Poem by Christopher Howie

Man of the people
Stands on his steeple.

Spewing only lies
That the public buys.

He speaks of the truth
To bolster his booth.

'Join me, my fellows! '
Does his voice bellow.

A voice of honey,
He's made of money.

Sickeningly sweet.
Yet none have him beat.

A fake smile does hide
That which lie inside.

His heart is all dark.
He bears the true mark.

One alone must rise.
Render truth from lie.

I shall take the task.
Make him shed his mask.

And so, I shall stand
With rifle in hand.

Shall aim as I must,
To do what is just.

Tonight, o', tonight.
The dust shall he bite.