Ah! It's turning out to be a joke
A mistake some may say,
How can we share the same dream?
What does the communist want from the capitalist?
Social welfare? A Midas parachute? Peanut devaluation?
What does the capitalist want from the communist?
Vultural revolution? A rubbish chute? Cultural jams?
Don't be silly, the rosy taxi driver advised,
What is fair, what is rare, what is fare
But a roving banana thief's lunch box
With sixty penny daisies on the cover
Painted by the nose of a cancer patient
Infecting every part of his body,
Arms, legs, amputated,
Mouth, ears, cut off,
Even the hungriest dogs wouldn't eat,
It was so sorrowful,
The poisoned limbs and sensors,
Hanging around his neck, a hangman's noose,
In a compact cigarette silver case,
No surgeon's warnings, no political hypocrisy,
Perusing resources, the kind clay May sailor
Had shouted, STOP smoking! STOP smoking!
You will only destroy yourself.
Stop it! Stop it! He had heard it a million times,
RECNAC SESUAC GNIKOMS, he had memorised it in reverse,
He wouldn't regret his experiments, for now he knew,
What the scientists said was true, it was just too late,
Isn't a gun for killing? Bombs to frighten?
Would it make sense to create something one may not use?
Is it for decoration, you think?
C'mon, surely you can see through that, can't you?
Said the psychotic brain washing machine vendor,
Selling a unit which is not to be used,
Because it's up to humans to clean up the animals,
For hunting pleasure, for economic purposes,
To threaten the weak to create more space,
Less mouths to feed, only the sophisticated ones
Know how to use gold and wood,
For their chandelier parties and stupid dress codes,
In the higher realms of the date ladder,
While the lesser humans starve for cactus barks,
It is all a fucking lie, ain't it?
The gospel of the dollar,
Promising shit happiness to empty souls,
Better be killed by tar, than war,
He thought, it's all for nothing, it's all for nothing,
The bloody Iago machine preying on the blinded
Fools who follow without reason, tossed by storms,
They couldn't control, greedy lichens, crossed by norms,
Who would take the first step?
Who would take the last step?
Homer asked the flea collar boatman,
Do you prefer white or blue? Sweat or trick?
Me? I will settle for the red moon,
Rising out of your fingernails,
Wild, wild, spirits of the Nile,
One east, one west, one poor, one rich,
One yin, one young, one gin, one yang,
Guarding parasite garbage curtains,
Separated from separation, it is well,
You is I is you is a cat with five lives for you,
Four for the rest of those who compete,
And none for me, I have nothing to prove,
That's the way it shall be, why not?
I shall truly be FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!
Please observe Mother Teresa...
How sad, isn't it?
————By Hsu Chi An
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