Maybe there’s a master plan–
An unrevealed intelligence–
Behind the actions of this man.
Can anybody be this dense?
If this is rope-a-dope, I’m caught;
If he’s a player, we’ve been played,
But Occam’s Razor says it’s not
And we’re all sliding down its blade.
I’m prepared–I’m even eager–
To admit I missed the reason
Underneath it all. A meager
Hope, I know. It beats high treason.