In the halls where power waltzes
with sleight of hand,
Where voices rise and fall,
voices shift on shifting sand.
A curious thing right rebranded as wrong,
a political spin—
In politics, the American soul is lost
to be the one to win.
The administration makes declarations
to tear Americans apart,
stating facts that factually
they made up from the start.
Each extends beyond their grasp.
They have authority, they claim.
They keep Americans in the dark
as they play a guessing game.
The art of statecraft
is a cloak-and-dagger dance,
Where certainty is cast by loaded die
or by happenstance.
In forums grandstanding,
on platforms of false claims of being right,
they speak of things disguised
by smoke and mirrors – blindsight.

With fervor in backroom deals,
they favor investors from distant shores,
while American resources stretch thin,
by favored and false words,
The world’s complexities,
as ultracrepidarians, they try to frame,
yet in their hands, they oversimplify,
as they change the rules of the game.
The ultracrepidarians hearing
the economist, the diplomat, the sage,
with wisdom, each voice resounds,
as our leaders write them off the page,
In the realm where facts are twisted
and with truth collides,
the voices of Americans echo from afar
and the false authority decides.
On they speak and earn,
through their deceit, their fleeting fame.
In politics, all Americans wear
the same strange name—
Ultracrepidarians outside their area of expertise
in the grand debate,
where every speech is bold and brass
but rarely spoken straight.