By my hidden benediction,
Enter you my bizzare fiction.
Dare you face this contradiction,
Of the world that I now scry?
What is truth, and what’s a lie?
Who will live and who will die?
Has the world itself gone mad?
Or is it I, I who with my little eye now spy?
Everyone thinks they’re a hero,
As their days count down to zero,
Everyone thinks they’re a king,
Glass of wine, another fling.
Look a little crooked bookworm,
Hides cooked books under the bed.
While his brother – what a rascal!
Fills a body bag with lead.
Plop! It sinks where goes the body?
But don’t worry, don’t despair.
The bag’s workmanship is shoddy.
When it floats up I’ll be there.
Both the lads will die in prison.
Should have sold the lead instead.
I myself prefer the concrete,
You don’t like what I just said?
Friendship? Love? Aren’t you a bore…
Pointless lives of little insects
There’s no point in keeping score.
Fine, some love? I’ll show you more!
Gaze upon the little orphan beaten in his foster home.
Oh his parents are still living, they just left him at the door.
On the floor the beggar’s lying, passed out in the cornerstore.
Has a daughter, living largely – don’t you dare call her a whore!
Just a joke, oh don’t you worry!
My reader, please don’t be sorry!
There, a happy family, let me show you one of these!
Loving father, caring mother.
Happy sister, joyous brother.
Then the smiles are torn asunder,
Smiling bombs fall from the sky!
Built by hands of loving fathers,
Eating lunch of caring wives.
And their sons soaring with joy,
Reap in war so many lives!
You seem down, my dearest reader.
Was it something that I said?
Was it something that I showed you?
You don’t laugh but cry instead?
Oh I see, it is the insects.
Do you sympathize with them?
When they twitch their little pincers,
Do you wish that I’d free them?
It’s a tragedy, I tell you.
If I could help them I would.
But it’s funny how they struggle.
And you can’t carve rotten wood.
Tragicomedy’s a science.
Just as much as it’s an art.
But my reader, YOU are different!
From the bugs you are apart!
I can’t write to your existence,
I can’t laugh at you at all.
Or … Perhaps… you are my conscience?
Ha! I really have the gall!
Hahahaha.
Hahahahaha.
Hahahahahahaha.
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