All they have are the I's, the my's, but never the why's
They let lies drip like flies from their sewn button eyes
They stitch hate and pleat fate through cloth alibis
Take their fill from your till of crushed cotton dyes
Take a bit
Then some more
From your gold threaded core
Grab a kit
Cut a slit
Then squeeze out your roar
For those who wish to take heed of this lore
All I can say is
Beware the puppet lined shore
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I particularly like the message in its enclosure.