Commos, lesbos, pinkos, drugos
A nation afraid of “O”s.
Behind the lines,
Where the wealthy reside,
Politicians dine,
As time flies by.
The Potency of my Apathy
Will not allow me to be
Corrupt by Emotions, Potions
Created nay Perpetrated by
A Mass Media Conglomerate.
Hippies and Hipsters
My what tricksters?
What have they accomplished
‘cept False ideas,
They’ve pushed upon us.
What's the key word ladies and germs,
“Hip, ” “Hip” my what a term.
Theres’ no “Hooray” today,
Only the realization of
One failed generation,
And one on the way down.
Down, downtown where
The Hip people go
To forget about their woes.
Eat, drink, and be Bacchus,
The Greek god of all things merry,
‘Least that what Mythology taught us.
Is this all life has in store?
Party, party what a vaccuous bore
But, wait friends ‘tis there more?
Nope sorry, you’ll be lucky to find,
A true love divine,
Before you breathe,
Nevermore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So goes Trip and Rod, charioted by Bacchus and his pards...