Poisonous Press

You make a living off of others' misfortunes,
And you don't even know these people.
Hand-feed them lies,
Hand-feed them poison.

The poison lingers,
And spreads throughout.
It's all people can see,
All people can feel.

Some day, though,
Your lights WILL go out.
People will figure out,
You've been not feeding them food but poison.