April 14, 2010
The king's real or his stamped face
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You ever think the country
would be better run
by megalomaniacs?
People with the honesty
to admit they love the one
true power of the tax?
Then masters would not act
like servants. We could see
the strings within each string.
I'd know when you attacked;
you'd know the same of me
when we renewed each spring.
For you're not me and I'm not you;
I want a different end.
If we were humble, hard and true,
we would not pretend.
I'm a popup window
somewhere in your system.
You hunt me with night vision,
but I don't cast a shadow.
You say "I missed him,"
and await the next collision.
For I'm not you and you're not me;
the happiness you seek
is bread robbed from a refugee,
the mighty on the meek.
I have to make a living,
to keep my family hearty,
and you must do the same.
So if we could be forgiving,
and screw some other party,
I'm open to that game.
For you are me and I am you;
we feed on the same prey:
a headlight-blinded kangaroo
too dumb to live 'til day.
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