The poem sets up a world of performance. Rivals "play-act a war," and everyone else recites a script, giving "the given talk." Nothing here feels real or spontaneous. Even the people who claim inside knowledge get it "from the king's own mouth," which makes their certainty sound borrowed from power rather than earned.
Against all this, the speaker makes a surprising turn. Hope, the last thing you'd leave to a shaky source, gets handed to "an atheistic drunk." That figure believes in nothing official and isn't reliable in any usual sense, yet the speaker trusts him more than the kings and talkers.
The mood is wry, tired, and a little defiant. Judging by the title, the speaker senses that institutions and official stories are breaking down. The poem doesn't sound panicked, though. It sounds like someone who has stopped expecting honesty from authority and found a stranger, more honest place to put their faith.