Four More Years

Four More Years
there's a cold wind blowing
from the right
my cheek is turning blue
as my skin is turning white
bring a flashlight
there will be dark inside
in the black fog
nowhere to hide
bring your weapons
every man for himself
everyone by themselves
get used to the freezing climate
we'll be stuck inside for four more years
get used to the stench
and learn how to like it
in the meantime we plan the escape