Trump is the Virus, But the GOP is the Host
A song about a sickness of the soul, fed by power and fear...
(Verse 1)
He didn’t come with thunder, he didn’t break the glass
He slipped in through the silence, the cracks from decades past
A shadow in the bloodstream, a whisper in the code
He found the doors wide open on a party long corrode
(Verse 2)
They’d stripped away the conscience, cut the guardrails down
Painted loyalty in poison, wore ambition like a crown
He offered them a mirror, they saw their thirst for might
And chose to dim the lanterns, instead of light the night
(Chorus)
🎶 He’s the sickness, but they’re the spread
Truth was starving, power fed
Wrapped in robes of red and white
They danced while justice bled in flight
A hunger born of fear and fame
They gave the fire its holy name
He’s the sickness, but let’s not boast —
This plague was welcome by its host 🎶
(Verse 3)
He praised the iron-fisted, cursed the ones who dared
Turned law into a riddle, made cruelty feel declared
They watched him salt the garden, cheer the rising smoke
Each oath they once defended — now a bitter joke
(Bridge)
Kilmar's name is whispered low
A child lost where laws won't go
A judge was clear, the order stood
But power shrugged, said “not my blood”
A senator begged, a court decreed
But silence answered every plea
And somewhere far from home and right
A boy now sleeps alone tonight
(Chorus)
🎶 He’s the sickness, but they’re the flame
Burning down the house they claim
They struck the match and called it fate
Then shut the door and locked the gate
A cult that traded soul for rule
A party poisoned in its pool
He’s the sickness — but know this most —
The death came not alone, but with its host 🎶
(Outro)
So will the fever ever break?
Or must we lose what’s left to take?
The cure begins when truth is said —
And hosts refuse to feed the dread
🎶 He’s the sickness… but we still write what’s left unsaid 🎶