The cold and cool of winter, tis the season of the discontented.
Should be grateful for this time but those feelings are sold or rented.
Not much here to look at, no not us… we can’t boast.
The suns still rising in the east, and looking messy on the coast.
Change is coming at the top, they are preparing the great meal.
For every winner there’s a loser and they are shouting about a steal.
In the north here we stay quiet with just a side of nevermind.
With one eye on the tele, and the valley of the blind.
I’ve been trying to find the writer cause I don’t see the script.
The rules are out the window and democracy has been flipped.
Maybe there’s no endgame, a plot twist to be sure.
When fear is the entertainment then the goals are sick and pure.
When power is the weapon. When the monster has to feed.
It’s simple not mysterious… turn the page… see the greed.