The Illuminati

They peer through triangular windows 

They see you move about 

They like breathing down your neck 

You turn ‘round and you can never find them 

But they are always watching 

They do their planning at Denver International 

They built the pyramids  

They love being on the one dollar bill 

“What do they do?” 

No one really knows 

“Who are they?” 

No one really knows 

“What are they?” 

No one really knows 

“Where are they?”  

No one really knows 

“What is it?” 

No one really knows.

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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