Lachie and Rupie, barons of ink,
Turn chaos to coin quicker than you’d think.
With profit their beacon and ethics for sale,
They spin every scandal and tip every scale.
Assaults on the powerless, gone with a swipe –
Their headlines are poison, high-octane hype.
Trump’s coup attempt, bold daylight theft,
Recast as mere gossip, the details all left.
With spin at the ready, the myth is restored:
“Just honest debate,” not the will to maraud.
Democracy staggers, bloodied and bruised,
While editors smirk at the rights they’ve abused.
They target a scapegoat, stoke old divides,
Splash fear on the front page, let decency slide.
Policies vanish beneath scandal and din,
As long as the outrage keeps profits rolling in.
Netanyahu pounces, weapon in hand,
His charge of “antisemite” sweeps cross the land.
He buries dead children in rhetoric’s grave,
A master of shadow, too cruel to save.
Bridges are crowded, resistance is loud,
Their suffering turned to a footnote or cloud.
A million boots thunder; the presses defame –
“Unrest” they dare call it, erasing each name.
Talkshows crackle with venom and spite,
Each caller enraged by a manufactured slight.
Discontent bottled like lightning in jars,
Released when the moguls declare open war.
Editors cackle, their power unbowed,
Patting their backs as they placate the crowd.
But whispers are swelling beneath the façade –
Justice denied only raises the odds.
Page after page and lie after lie,
The truth weighed down so their profits can fly.
But headlines can’t muffle dissent’s growing roar,
Nor ink forever blockade the door.
When money runs scared and the people unite,
No paper fortress survives the daylight.
History’s ink is deeper than spin,
And justice returns, cleansed from their sin.
Their kingdom of mirrors will shatter – just wait.
The bridges keep filling, and so does the hate.
But power on lease is a power that wanes –
What’s stolen with headlines, we’ll take back with chains.
by Bakchos
