| Poetry |
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| Love Trap The thought that counts, is counting down The tickety-tock of the clock Until I flock Just like the wam-bam thank-you, mam of the pimpin' man And this thought crams my soul into commitment Lest I tear down the walls, of the glove With its smickety-smack Of your God be-damned Love Trap |
| Acid Drop T |
| War In a Box Once apon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye Around about the wonderous days of yore, They came across a kind of box Bound up with chains and locked with locks And labeled "Kindly do not touch; It's war." A decree was issued round about and all with a flourish and a shout And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, Or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don't mess about with war. The children understood. Children happen to be good. And they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks, or break inot that deady box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either: sisters, aunts, grannies neither. 'Cause they were quiet, sweet, and pretty In those wonderous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, And not the ones to blame somehow, For opening up that deadly box of war. But someone did. Someone battered in the lid And spilled all of its insides out across the floor. A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags And all the tears and horror and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, Bumping into everything in store. And what was sad And most unfair Was it didn't really seem to care Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for. It bumped the children mainly, and I'll tell you this quite plainly, It bumps them every day and more, and more And leaves them dead, and burned, and dying Thousands of them, sick and crying 'Cause when it bumps it's really very sore. Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom. And I'm absolutely sure That we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, And lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore. Well, that's the way it all appears 'cause it's been bouncing round For years and years In spite of all the wisdom wizzed sinced those wonderous days of yore And they came across that kind of box Bound up with chains and locked with locks And labelled "Kindly, do not touch; It's War." |