Post by seren on Jul 23, 2009 15:39:10 GMT -5
Something’s-something’s—oh my God!—something’s-something-
Something must be happening! Something’s happening! So suddenly!
What a dismal affair to silence the horrific protesters,
The offenders of the law, the subordinate degenerates,
Busy like bloodthirsty cats and dogs—those dogs,
Howling at the moon, begging for a bone, searching for
Something on which to sup; likewise, the cats looking
For—milk?—to dim their cravings and curdle their
Bodies into fetal position. The way you were born—
The way that you were born—the way in which you
Were born—is how you curl up to leave the Earth,
Or so it seems. One could be lying, oh, but the scene
Is dying out like a prehistoric extinct species—oh!—
Dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes on the horizon
Line. Running, yellow lines across the palms of the
Macbooks. What did you learn today, Johnny, dear?
If anything at all, I learnt to fight the good fight while
The rocket ships blast off, the charts take off, the
Maids beat their charge, the brood goes off together.
It’s such a wonderful reckoning for mankind, methinks.
We’ve got your vengeful Norses, your spiteful tortoises,
Your weapons of mass destruction carried on our backs.
But before you can thank us properly, you lift your tongue
To the roof of your mouth and you bang blindly around for
The answer—the one and only answer—that saves us from
Your last grace. And as the dynamite ignites, we go out
In flames, like a house drawn to the wildfires due south.
Or so it seems. One could be lying, oh, but one could really
Be dying in the arms of a pedophile—oh, God, no! Not at all!
You have to understand that sometimes these things happen—
Dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes on the horizon
Line. Running, yellow lines across the palms of the Macbooks.
What did you learn today, Father, dear? Extrapolate, please.
If anything at all, he’s learnt to fight the necessary brawl while
The turbo engines explode—lousy, damned American machinery—
The couples cheat on each other with a group of wrestling swingers,
The albinos demand justice, as do the ginger-haired people, and the
Brood goes off together on a whirl-wind expedition to outer-space.
It’s such a wonderful reckoning for mankind—yes, it is—methinks.
Save your pennies for dreidels at the dollar store; it won’t make
A ruddy difference, anyhow, so let’s just move on from here.
They won’t be playing your tune when you’re off of the melody.
If you don’t like singing soprano—if you don’t like it—then you
Can just lose your voice forever and go straight-way home for
The afternoon. See if we care—see if they care—oh, look! They
Care after all. After all, because, after all, you see, it’s very, very
Very, extremely varied and complicated, too complicated to solve.
This is the back-end of the backhand of the back-country, where
We all live to cuss and smoke our sugar cigarettes and spike the
Punch and have ourselves a merry laugh when the tables seem
To be turned in our direction because—it’s a fact; ask anyone—
We’re drunk, stoned out of our ever-loving minds, half the time—
No, all the time! If anyone asks, we’re off to see the Broadway
Musical adaptation of the boss’s life story; we’ll be back in a week.
You don’t have to hear if you don’t want to—if it makes you feel stronger—
But we’re dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes of the horizon
Line. Skipping, yellow lines across the palms of the electronic faces.
What did you learn today, naïve dear? Explain your conduct.
If anything at all, I expected this from your father, but certainly
Not from you. If anything at all, you should’ve learnt to fight
The good fight while the turbines became dust, the gang assembled
Itself outside of Campbell, the lynch mob waited for new skin to claw,
The monks chanted a Gregorian chant, the summit sparkled above.
The brood goes off together, as do the ginger-haired people and albinos.
It’s such a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful reckoning for mankind.
Something must be happening! Something’s happening! So suddenly!
What a dismal affair to silence the horrific protesters,
The offenders of the law, the subordinate degenerates,
Busy like bloodthirsty cats and dogs—those dogs,
Howling at the moon, begging for a bone, searching for
Something on which to sup; likewise, the cats looking
For—milk?—to dim their cravings and curdle their
Bodies into fetal position. The way you were born—
The way that you were born—the way in which you
Were born—is how you curl up to leave the Earth,
Or so it seems. One could be lying, oh, but the scene
Is dying out like a prehistoric extinct species—oh!—
Dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes on the horizon
Line. Running, yellow lines across the palms of the
Macbooks. What did you learn today, Johnny, dear?
If anything at all, I learnt to fight the good fight while
The rocket ships blast off, the charts take off, the
Maids beat their charge, the brood goes off together.
It’s such a wonderful reckoning for mankind, methinks.
We’ve got your vengeful Norses, your spiteful tortoises,
Your weapons of mass destruction carried on our backs.
But before you can thank us properly, you lift your tongue
To the roof of your mouth and you bang blindly around for
The answer—the one and only answer—that saves us from
Your last grace. And as the dynamite ignites, we go out
In flames, like a house drawn to the wildfires due south.
Or so it seems. One could be lying, oh, but one could really
Be dying in the arms of a pedophile—oh, God, no! Not at all!
You have to understand that sometimes these things happen—
Dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes on the horizon
Line. Running, yellow lines across the palms of the Macbooks.
What did you learn today, Father, dear? Extrapolate, please.
If anything at all, he’s learnt to fight the necessary brawl while
The turbo engines explode—lousy, damned American machinery—
The couples cheat on each other with a group of wrestling swingers,
The albinos demand justice, as do the ginger-haired people, and the
Brood goes off together on a whirl-wind expedition to outer-space.
It’s such a wonderful reckoning for mankind—yes, it is—methinks.
Save your pennies for dreidels at the dollar store; it won’t make
A ruddy difference, anyhow, so let’s just move on from here.
They won’t be playing your tune when you’re off of the melody.
If you don’t like singing soprano—if you don’t like it—then you
Can just lose your voice forever and go straight-way home for
The afternoon. See if we care—see if they care—oh, look! They
Care after all. After all, because, after all, you see, it’s very, very
Very, extremely varied and complicated, too complicated to solve.
This is the back-end of the backhand of the back-country, where
We all live to cuss and smoke our sugar cigarettes and spike the
Punch and have ourselves a merry laugh when the tables seem
To be turned in our direction because—it’s a fact; ask anyone—
We’re drunk, stoned out of our ever-loving minds, half the time—
No, all the time! If anyone asks, we’re off to see the Broadway
Musical adaptation of the boss’s life story; we’ll be back in a week.
You don’t have to hear if you don’t want to—if it makes you feel stronger—
But we’re dying out! Bloody Hell! Brilliant flashes of the horizon
Line. Skipping, yellow lines across the palms of the electronic faces.
What did you learn today, naïve dear? Explain your conduct.
If anything at all, I expected this from your father, but certainly
Not from you. If anything at all, you should’ve learnt to fight
The good fight while the turbines became dust, the gang assembled
Itself outside of Campbell, the lynch mob waited for new skin to claw,
The monks chanted a Gregorian chant, the summit sparkled above.
The brood goes off together, as do the ginger-haired people and albinos.
It’s such a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful reckoning for mankind.