Here it is.

As the dreams shower down,
We look upon our creation,
Not a smile or frown,
not even a reaction.

As the world grows dark,
our trembles grow weak,
the angels cry hark,
our future grows bleak.

Our father, our father,
look down upon our fall,
with the pain of your bother,
our choice was a shortfall.

Our time grows close,
our actions must be acted,
pump our veins with lethal dose,
and let us drop like infected.

As we lay still,
We hear the serpent,
"Don't worry about tax bill,
we ARE THE GOVERNMENT!"

This is a poem directed towards the general election on how promises may be made, but will still stay corrupted as before.