No Trump(ets)

[Verse 1 Trumpet Intro]
You sell a bruise and call it pride,
wrap it in a flag, then call it light.
Red tie swinging like a warning sign,
game show king with a god complex grin.
You say “jobs,” then jack the price,
torch the room and blame the ice.
Every lie comes chrome and clean,
same old poison, brighter screen.
[Pre Chorus]
You say “strength,”
I hear “obey.”
You say “freedom,”
then draw a cage.
[Chorus]
This ain’t your golden age,
just a tantrum on a stage.
Cheap crown, fake glow,
fear for sale in a patriot tone.
This ain’t your promised land,
just a fist in a velvet glove.
You can scream “USA” all night,
but hate still sounds like hate with drums.
[Verse 2]
Tariff sermons, border theater,
every bully needs a bigger speaker.
You feed on panic, dine on blame,
print new slogans for the same old shame.
You love “the people” in campaign lights,
not when they’re poor, not when they write,
not when they march, not when they stay,
not when they look the “wrong” damn way.
[Pre Chorus]
You say “truth,”
then kill the light.
You say “peace,”
while picking fights.
[Chorus]
This ain’t your golden age,
just a tantrum on a stage.
Cheap crown, fake glow,
fear for sale in a patriot tone.
This ain’t your promised land,
just a fist in a velvet glove.
You can scream “USA” all night,
but hate still sounds like hate with drums.
[Bridge]
No king, just branding.
No vision, just smoke.
No savior, just ratings
for people half broke.
You can flood the air with noise,
still won’t make it true.
A louder lie’s a louder lie,
that’s all it ever was from you.
[Final Chorus]
This ain’t your golden age,
it’s a fraud in a tailored shape.
Cheap crown, fake glow,
anger dressed in a TV halo.
This ain’t your promised land,
it’s a threat with a marching band.
You can wave that flag till dawn,
we still won’t sing along

Dark sarcastic indie protest pop, piano intro, punchy drums, biting male vocal, anthemic chorus, cinematic outro, 96 BPM