Tattooed to you,
Branded like a patsy,
While you amble around whistling dixie,
A chorus is singing at his funeral
The plan to rebel went awry,
Eating their own propaganda and disintegrating
In the process of attempting to become extraordinary,
They slipped into page one in the textbook of mediocrity
So instead of chewing on the fat of the land,
One lives six feet beneath it,
Never again to pursue senseless leaps in decision-making
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem