"Conspiracy nuts and vultures,
"Exploiters of others' grief," Such vituperative brickbats For those without blind belief In the fantastic tale of depression That led to Vince Foster's demise, Such a blizzard of bitter invective For anyone just getting wise To the abundance of lies and deception Scattered all over the place, From the X-rays reported, but never seen, To the curious park-to-hospital race To look for keys that weren't in his pants, But after a co-worker visit, by chance, For "identification," we're led to infer, They somehow miraculously WERE.
To the die-hard defenders of Kenneth Starr
David Martin |
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