Blinken, Biden, and the Blob took fright
But they knew just what to do.
They’d run enough ads and start enough fads
Until they had scared you too.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to Iran for a magic dish
“For we must own the China Sea.
“Our golden gun will starve Venezuela
Said Blinken, Biden, and the Blob.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in their jackets straight.
“You’ll never win so long as you’re still
“Trying to make America great.”
A soprano, Peace, leant her voice as well:
“You can’t catch me,” she sang.
“With your murder drones or your Star Wars clones —
“Better melt down the whole shebang,”
Peace informed the triumvirate mob,
Blinken, Biden, and the Blob.
Day and night their coups they threw,
Tossing bombs at imperial gloam.
Then up from the earth a cry arose
That sent them crawling home:
“Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
“But alas it could not be;
“There’s just no way for a killer cop
“To spread democracy.
“Drink from this cup and wake the fuck up,”
Was the cry heard by Blinken, Biden, and the Blob.
Blinken and Biden are two little clowns,
And the Blob is their circus tent.
From Foggy Bottom to Farrrugut West’s
An asylum that’s up for rent.
So shake off the spell of normalized hell,
Get out of bed and clear your head
Of this dreamy exceptionalism.