At that certain crisp cold time of night
When the tired peek their heads up from misery
Dreaming up
Devious schemes, cracking and bating their own
Musing on terror and other delights
I think We might have got it trite
I want one night when the sheep get eaten by the pack
And then we’ll find “no-cells” in cells
Abundance can mean freedom…
…and dumber. They inherit these ill-fitting genes, topped
With an iron hat for the kid-agains
Whom we’ll still call idiots
A check from intellects who know the score
Cashed out in crayons, gold, and modern device
Don’t make me have to tell you twice
This game is called off on account of vain
Waving arms that say, “No harm no foul.”
Play by play…
We’ll feel it in the air, until we get them
And want to keep on coming back for more but they’re learning (to keep off the grass worn down but not completely left out irony leave creases in doubt play on words. twist ‘em ‘til they pout. Chased out. window closed. broken glass on the mind until we get them until we get them until we get them