The rain splutters at me in foreign tongue As my mind hurdles under a mushroom Shelter from the pelting lashes Of nostalgic memory Such vulnerable home from woes Like a rodent hole in flooding summer
They tell me I am a finicky rat That will not survive outside Sakubva Ratatat-tatatatat-****! Oh but how true! Each day I walk out in the morning Come evening I pick every footprint I left Back home Prompted by need to use my footprints Once more
Take care! The radio blares Save save save save The television frowns Wise up Recycle is the trick in these hard times Discarded beliefs, discarded memories, discarded tastes Can be recycled Recycled dreams, recycled husband, recycled wife... I scrap my bottom in amazement After all there is always a grain of virtue left In what we discard - O how I love the scent God has made it that way That each time you **** Before you go You save a nostalgic glance at your **** Suppressing a sense of loss For a part of you left behind
Like kites tied to strings we are We regale in our false splendour At time's mercy The fruits of mental ******* Deflowered by new ****** worlds Of lewd dreams in striking G-Strings Gyrating ***** of fantastic insanity That lure us Into the heavy -bosomed clouds Pregnant with cultural retribution For the anarchy coursing our veins Like the burning pain on my back Each evening when I bend double To pick up and bag my footprints I left in the morning
This is not madness When I tell you to let your beak Of tolerance peck and peck On your *******... What difference is there Between **** in your belly and **** steaming betwixt your legs? What difference is home When you are young and when old?
Riding on the back of butterfly dreams When I am a newborn macho In the bullring of entrepreneurship Or O such cosmopolitan hunk In the realm of fashion and modelling... Sounds like sheltering under a mushroom That springs and dazzles but a day Hope I will hurtle back Hope sweet home, home sweet home I am a finical rat That won't live away from home.