Corona

Bow down to the King
Upon an exponential steed
The King of Standstill
Brought the world to its knees

Loyal subjects spread the word
Spew it far and wide
A new monarch rises
Spiked wings direct the tide
And the townsfolk drop like flies

We declare invisible war
Rumors infect the drinking water
The Kool-Aid is contaminated
And laughter hides the slaughter

The people covet toilet rolls
As if that will protect them
And their diamond shops
And their precious stocks
Safety in gold Trumps the lives of the old

The King rules with iron fist
We wield cotton shields to protect
From hazardous breath
Touch is banned, punishable by
(un)certain death
Or, at least, solitary confinement

But old habits die hard.

In his castle of isolation,
The royal virus waits, mutates
We weaponize a needle
Too little too late

The three blind mice of the apocalypse:
Deceit, Denial, Dissonance

Corona is still King, and
Ignorance is still bliss