There’s the old smoothie, turning on the charm.

Hunched behind his desk, far away from harm.

He doesn’t seem to care or give a toss

About the lives that he condemns to loss.

 

There’s the old smoothie, targeting Ukraine.

Oblivious to death, amused by pain,

He knows the masses have nowhere to hide

And are fair game if they live on that side.

 

There’s the old smoothie, planning his attack;

Eyeing up his victims, watching his back.

For him it’s not an issue where bombs fall,

Or whether what he hits is large or small.

 

There’s the old smoothie, gathering his spoils.

He cracks a joke; the enemy recoils.

He preens himself and fancies to impress;

And then he chucks more rubbish on this mess.