The fool has made his final stand,
Or at least, that’s what he claims, final stand.
And he’s kind of a liar, you know?
Totemized & labotemized:
Castrated & gagged,
He vows no more foolish speech will pass his parched & pissed lips.
Yet here he is, speaking his “and another thing … ”
It’s like a dogma inside his tiny, worthless mind.
A hallucinatory difference & repetition trip.
“Don’t undercut me. How dare you undercut me?” He was told.
And so singing, singing and singing
His songs of folly and damage,
Such ruinous, selfish panic.
Love, you say, you little asshole?
Care, you say, you lying shit.
Poetry, you presume, you selfish egotistical cunt!
And so the fool slinks off, into the imbecilility of his stuporous cubicle,
Back to the gutter from which he crawled,
And vows never to kill again.