Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Marching to a different tune

I don't want to carry the small box with the lid,
I certainly do not want to be on a float,
You are in love with the Earth, go bore him,
Nuclear power sounds erotic at times, spank me.

I do not claim to know much about all,
I am small and do not worry so,
Your democratic drivel sounds fun,
But I may cosy up to Dubya anyway.

I am not in need of respect, not now,
But may take the medal with your claps,
There to eat the canapes that is all,
You can write something dumb, I'll swallow.

You do not really work that hard, not really,
It is all a paradigm. You sweat and the band plays on,
Then you march to the pub's tune with you mates,
And talk about the usual bulls*it!

I don't care if my verse doesn't flow,
Today I am looking for the rocks,
I want to see if the boats will crash,
And I shall keep on being perverse.

I don't want to carry the small box with the lid,
I certainly do not want to be on a float,
You are in love with the Earth, go bore him,
I shall hate you forever and love you behind your back.

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