the orientation for your new full time job of defying common sense
and becoming an object lesson to the unrepentant ones
will last until you retire
if you let your short dollars dictate your steps
then every word you say will be wrapped in a silent scream
and you will be drowned in a common dream
in which no work is worth losing the comfort of dull spirit
you will be tossed in the middle of a network
of mutually agreeable, impressionable genitals
habitually overdosing imbecillin
seeing their future of fame and fortune
in tv-type of glamour
while parading in cheap clothing
with intrepidity of hungry jackals
selling porn on lunch brakes to augment their dollars
[you will see locust feeding on locust
for the lack of vegetation]
screaming with their eyes to money to come
they will secretly try to harm you, time and again
and when they see you down, they will taunt you:
“so where is your God now, sweetheart?”
you must keep your head above
your years will be be like roadblocks
thrown between you and God’s breath
by the hand of one greedy devil
who fills all space like liquid
and drowns all souls in his thirst
and if you keep your head above
you will be hit by ubiquitous envy
storming the heavens with complaints
from the same old crafty serpents
borderline divas of curse pronouncements
histrionic social moths
who turn everyone into their familiars
with diamond-hard cherry pit of sorrow
in their stomachs
which no amount of faking can dissolve
and no amount of daily prayers to money oh money to come
and if you keep your head above
you will be betrayed
by the little lawless god of twisted logic
of unknowable causes and elastic numbers
pirouetting with his screwdriver and a lady hammer
through his neighbors’ minds
surgeons of correct exclusions
schemers of back-flipped arguments
keepers of books and deductions avoiders
pirates of the ocean of meaningless names
weaving their algorithms to money
you will be stereotyped into a cripple of a person
by your most caring neighbors
but keep your head above, keep what you learned
the one who cares for the sheep is a shepherd
but the one who humps the chickens is a rooster
the one who eats a granny and puts her clothes on is a wolf
and the one who allows a fox to come into one's vineyard is a fool
excuse me, sir
how do you keep playing that fiddle of yours
between an angry swamp and treacherous air?
the day will come when ripened fruit will fall to the ground
and you will play your fiddle as well
you will see judas after judas
and jezebel after jezebel
stating their lies and absconding at night
and the day will come when it will all be just a tale of old
from the times of Civilization of Delusions and the Wrath of Truth
as told by one storyteller
whose only aspiration ever was
to become God’s laughter of derision
and becoming an object lesson to the unrepentant ones
will last until you retire
if you let your short dollars dictate your steps
then every word you say will be wrapped in a silent scream
and you will be drowned in a common dream
in which no work is worth losing the comfort of dull spirit
you will be tossed in the middle of a network
of mutually agreeable, impressionable genitals
habitually overdosing imbecillin
seeing their future of fame and fortune
in tv-type of glamour
while parading in cheap clothing
with intrepidity of hungry jackals
selling porn on lunch brakes to augment their dollars
[you will see locust feeding on locust
for the lack of vegetation]
screaming with their eyes to money to come
they will secretly try to harm you, time and again
and when they see you down, they will taunt you:
“so where is your God now, sweetheart?”
you must keep your head above
your years will be be like roadblocks
thrown between you and God’s breath
by the hand of one greedy devil
who fills all space like liquid
and drowns all souls in his thirst
and if you keep your head above
you will be hit by ubiquitous envy
storming the heavens with complaints
from the same old crafty serpents
borderline divas of curse pronouncements
histrionic social moths
who turn everyone into their familiars
with diamond-hard cherry pit of sorrow
in their stomachs
which no amount of faking can dissolve
and no amount of daily prayers to money oh money to come
and if you keep your head above
you will be betrayed
by the little lawless god of twisted logic
of unknowable causes and elastic numbers
pirouetting with his screwdriver and a lady hammer
through his neighbors’ minds
surgeons of correct exclusions
schemers of back-flipped arguments
keepers of books and deductions avoiders
pirates of the ocean of meaningless names
weaving their algorithms to money
you will be stereotyped into a cripple of a person
by your most caring neighbors
but keep your head above, keep what you learned
the one who cares for the sheep is a shepherd
but the one who humps the chickens is a rooster
the one who eats a granny and puts her clothes on is a wolf
and the one who allows a fox to come into one's vineyard is a fool
excuse me, sir
how do you keep playing that fiddle of yours
between an angry swamp and treacherous air?
the day will come when ripened fruit will fall to the ground
and you will play your fiddle as well
you will see judas after judas
and jezebel after jezebel
stating their lies and absconding at night
and the day will come when it will all be just a tale of old
from the times of Civilization of Delusions and the Wrath of Truth
as told by one storyteller
whose only aspiration ever was
to become God’s laughter of derision
