McConnell made a bargain with the devil
And wants to make amends—too late, too late!—
As consequences do his mind dishevel,
His conscience and composure agitate.
His frantic eyes, his tousled hair express
The machinations of his soul, now doomed;
Such personal disaster finds redress
But only when the body lies entombed.
Till death deliver his, a soul in pain,
He must exist in a tormenting hell,
Knowing that by his hand the best was slain,
Hatred subverting what he once loved well.
He stands devoid of means to make amends,
His actions toward his country not a friend’s.