Numb. 1211 Breaking Down Donald

Donald is a sad little man.

(Albeit he’s also evil.)

Photo of dad on his desk?

Don’t know 'bout you

but to me that suggests

unresolved issues,

his way of saying,

“So there!

You’re dead and buried!

And I AM HERE!

In the WHITE HOUSE!

I’m PRECEDENT!

WHAT DID YOU DO?

BESIDES COLLECT RENT?

Daddy? Daddy?

Look at me? Please?

Why do I feel

these inadequacies?

Daddy? Oh, Daddy?

I'm down on my knees.

Please say you love me.

Please? Daddy? Please?

I promise to learn

to lie and conceal.

Daddy, don't hit me.

Please! Daddy! Please!

Why do so many

people berate me?

Why, Daddy in heaven,

does everyone hate me?

I’m rich and handsome,

I have a great life.

(And speaking of women,

check out current wife.)

My crowds adore me,

yet I feel stressed.

Daddy, like you,

I get awful press.

I never can satisfy

the New York Times.

They even remind me

of you sometimes.

(Do I have a thing

with authority figures?

We always agreed,

not renting to REDACTED

I do NOT insist on

complete adulation,

but I would appreciate

some A-PRE-CI-A-TION.)

I know you’re dead, Daddy,

still I sit by the phone

hoping you’ll call.

I. Feel. SO. A-lone!”