I don't have words of 'scholars' who dance
To the go along, get along 'woke' tune.
Brain dead fools who love madness like 'Dune'
Yet reject poor Riddick without a chance.
This sickness called sense, if we will agree
To terms which void our soul of common sense
And drown us all in a spiritless sea
Of robot mute zombie grunting pretence.
If Greenstreet's 'Shutup Wilma' could be heard
Above this blind stampede to silence Gus
As his Walker Colt booms and Woodrow's word
Loads America's 'hellfire' blunderbuss!
Our 'lonesome Dove' song sings 'Merica' kin!
Freedom! Freedom! Apocalyspe begin!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem