name me a song and i'll take you on a ride
across the sea of Darfur;
a bulb. a cream. a rope, a beam
the assassination of the delta king.
Mommy, take me home right now
that clown is the least of my worries;
let worries entertain me instead.
Put dust on a dough and call it bread
for the slaves have gathered their fowls
gripped tight by their claws
flown west were dusk
takes it's rest.
Held captive by morn.
Surely i shall be put to sleep
by the silents of the middle east
counting coconut yield
outside of Adapasari.
But when tomorrow comes
and the day after tomorrow goes
we'll, all be back, nine to five
nul; strolling in the algebraic pattern.