Orange man, orange man — where do you go?
To podiums that smell of new paint and glow.

Orange man, orange man — what do you do?
I wrap debt in ribbon, sign it, and call it truth.

Orange man, orange man — why do we live?
To clap at the echo that keeps the poor on the sieve.

Orange man, orange man — how can you be so kind?
I press my teeth to cameras, grin — the rest I grind.

Orange man, orange man — where do you sleep?
On beds of polls and gilded loans, the country on my keep.

Orange man, orange man — what do you fear?
A mirror that doesn’t blink, a fact that won’t cheer.

Orange man, orange man — why the orange suit?
Because the brightest lies need matching fruit.


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