Architects And Lambradors Explanation Poem by Roger Bewman

Architects exquisite book of self control
isn’t laminated, isn't under oath

All the foundations of arts, crafts and soul
isn't architecture, isn't Johnson's board

They may seem laborious, they may seem so strong
They are stupid thinking they'll evolve

Who do they think they are?
With pencils, rulers, knives they're all barbarians with materialistic lives

They don't know what they need from life
they don't know what they speak
another sarcastic role they play
in world's abusive way

There's no use even knowing them
there's no use even trying
they're hypocrites, they're arrogant
they’re selfish they're unkind

They wish to have a good career
with all means no strings attached
they even kiss a monkey face
although they will be trashed

They’re not the high society
they're enthusiastic jerks
all talking with notoriety
they're lower than bank clerks

This book of self control is all just a lie
a pretender of instability

Vitriolic words their knife
they stab you in the back
they stab you in the heart
they stab you in the mind and soul
they even stab your pride

There's no way to approach them
if you're endocentric sided
you must be self destructive
you soon will be collided

Note: If any architects read this poemo don’t take it personally. It was written during a very stormy period of an affair I had with an architect.