Alone in my Trump tower I am locked in a discourse with my own
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
Will it be nobler to accept the presented poisoned chalice?
Or die on my sword nobly blaming my many critics in true Trump style.
The predicament I am facing is not of my choosing,
The blame must rest firmly upon the shoulders of Hillary Clinton,
She should have won the election, my rantings designed to make it so,
Thus not causing the heartache of a thousand shocks.
I should now be happily engaged in what I am good at,
Wronging the oppressors, claiming a rigged vote, stirring up even more
In this regard currents have turned awry.
Seven score and eleven years ago, our fathers brought forth, on this
continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created Un-Equal
There – I have re-written some of our great history, Trump style.