Is it who's genes fall where?
   Or the pains we bear?
Is it the way we fare?
   Or the words we dare?

What makes the "love" Love?
   What feathers a dove?
What makes you wear that glove
   That keeps you from Love?

Do we make you hostile
   And storm down your mile?
Have we filled you with bile
   And forced your "Sieg Heil"?

Tell, how long must we wait
   For a bouncing gait?
Will your demons abate,
   Or have you ****** fate?

Some hold on to the hope
   That with time you'll cope;
They keep feeding you rope--
   I say, "******* nope!"

I gave you inches-- feet
   And with it I'm beat.
I'll watch you bite the teet,
   Silent in my seat.

Since you won't share my genes,
   Still stuck in your teens,
You can't care for our fare--
   Have no words to dare.

You're the feather-less dove
   Never to rise above.
They gave you unjust bile
   And you praised, "Sieg Heil!"