Oh, my! Does it feel wonderful to point at him? To shout: “Evil!”, and to cry: “It is not I”? Do I feel better knowing that I am “better”? Do I feel like a leader, dragging my ten friends to his show to laugh at him with insult? Do I want to drag my tribe to a place where he has a microphone and we don’t? Do I trust my friends to listen to the most reasonable voice or do I know they will listen to the loudest one?
If this is a song, is it not finished? Why don’t I answer, when you ask me: “Who is this song about?”. Is it about me? Can it be? And you? Will I explain what it means?
Does it bother you that Napoleon made France great again? No, this is not about the French “Revolution”. Not about the Guillotine? It is not about the gunslingers tool, the Revolver? It is not about violence. It is not about revolving doors to the palace of power. It is not about what comes and goes and comes and goes. Is it?
When the day comes, and I get the microphone, what do I say?