Nations and individuals struggle with new burdens As the gold standard is pushed ever higher in praise of Moloch And we the people of the earth rejoiced to become morlochs
What kind of man was he? Mums half brother They never meet Was he like her? The same expressions, the same feelings Did they share anything besides a father? The one he knew and she did not
This pudding tastes of anger And this meat it tastes of woe Hard won was my talent But it’s all so long ago Nothing tastes as it should with misdeeds and disseat
I am the whitehouse-winehouse entity Come to tell you how to think “Leave Britney alone” Only we who appear on the telly have the right to choose I say act up and take drugs
To self cultivate Just as tea leaves are cultivated Ceremony to foster humanity Teaism is mostly a mode of aesthetics Yet there is more to the ritual As it includes art
