Song: No Shoes Poem by Dave SmithWhite

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Just what do you see?
Elections of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! In the home of the free,
Is everyone dreaming, or is it just me?

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Just what's going on?
Or pursue errant happiness and play the old song.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! Of the feeble and fond;
Of all the dull people, one step from beyond.

Tell me. Oh, tell me! What can't be excused.
Paint it dark in stark colours and all fateful hues.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! The street-level blues;
But if someone's left guessing, your story's no shoes!

Tell me. Oh, tell me! How the game is so rigged.
How banks cannot fail when they get too big.
How bankers are cankers on the whole common weal,
Who are richly rewarded when they lie, cheat and steal.

Tell me. Oh, tell me! All that you've heard.
You can dress it up proper so no guilt is inferred.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! 'Til I'm shaken, not stirred,
On the white plains of murder, where 'standing ground' is the word.

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Whatever you choose.
Give us 'lone wolf' confessions. Assassins are news.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! By blame to accuse,
With the big buck expressions of mass fear enthused.

Tell me. Oh, tell me! How no-one will lose.
How there's never a cross word when you ain't got no clues.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! The street-level blues;
But if someone's left guessing, your story's no shoes!

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Skype me or Tweet.
Keep it pithy and simple, to the point, and complete.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! The word on the street;
And the dissonant metrics of utter defeat.

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Just what do you see?
We can promise to filter it for a fat fee.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! As a stringer and troll,
Did you take the blood money when you sold out your soul?

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Just what do you see?
Note some impressions of grim misery.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! In the land of the brave.
Who fights for their master's dread hand on the slave?

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Just what do you see?
How breathless correspondents embedded are twee.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! When we ramp up the lies.
Will the class that is winning walk off with the prize?

Tell me. Oh, tell me! Now no-one pays dues,
To the old social contract, torn up and abused.
Tell me. Oh, tell me! The street-level blues;
But if someone's left guessing, your story's no shoes!