Bullets and Bread

By Cliff Lake

 

Bullets and Bread

 

Nightly the great one took to his bed.

He did not sleep there but proclaimed instead.

About persecution and new bloodshed,

And the guns started firing and no one was fed.

And the news guy asked as the war spread,

“What is going on inside your head?”

And to the newsman he smiled and he said,

“See how we exchange bullets for bread.”

 

Oil and water,

Prayer and war.

Getting bled dry at the grocery store.

Pride and fear,

Secrets and more.

Who knows what’s next in store?

Home and hearth,

Worry and dread.

Where have the brutish boots tread?

Grease and gore,

Awake and brain-dead:

They would exchange bullets for bread.

 

Daily the great one is pried from his bed,

Taken to the great hall, he’ll sleep there instead.

There the cowardly circle his head,

While to him only the best lies are fed.

Down the poison primrose path he is led,

That he may open his eyes and lose the thread.

But should the people’s pain be pled,

He claims the need of more bullets and less bread.

 

Oil and water,

Joy and grief.

And from on high there is no relief.

Sinner and saint,

Liar and thief,

The back of the nation broken on the reef.

Home and hearth,

Worry and dread.

Where have the brutish boots tread?

Grease and gore,

Awake and brain-dead:

They would exchange bullets for bread.

 

He stands his ground while on the run,

Hides behind the storms he’s spun.

Still he claims he’s the only one –

Look at how much he has undone.

 

In public places and other spaces the great one is shred.

Following the disgraces he takes to his bed.

Truths he chases to shoot them dead,

Covering the bases, his lies are spread.

Truth-tellers he traces, of them he’d be shed.

Can’t forget their faces; they’re in his head.

From his sins he races, to them he’s wed,

And violence embraces, exchanging bullets for bread.

 

Oil and water,

Blood and bone,

How to beat a heart of stone?

Truth and lies,

Hidden and shown.

How low he’s forced the eagle flown.

Home and hearth,

Worry and dread.

Where have the brutish boots tread?

Grease and gore,

Awake and brain-dead:

They would exchange bullets for bread.

 

Cliff Lake 6/11/2026

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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