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Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
So it is a controversy. So they say,
Marriage sours if your parents are gay,
The idea of this seems like a self-centered
View, that gay marriage partners aren't
Well to do. Get over it, gays need rights as well,
It's not to decide, as if you were a god,
Whether they will wind up in this place
You call hell. Leave them alone, let their dream be,
You call this a free country where marriage is free?
Or maybe you believe in the idea that all marriage
Should be defined as only for straights, it's per my
Humble opinion that is a favouritism argument
Geared just against gays.
It's stuck in my head,
Until it's gone,
When I can make endless complaints
Endless back stabs to match.
But till its gone, it is there.
After it's been there and gone,
It is there again.
Every night of everyday
And also in random hours of my days.
I see the old, then I see the new.
It seems my world has turned black and blue.
My heart beats faster
And my eyes: they cry.
I feel I am mourning a loss;
Of someone never born to be able to die.
It's the cases like this
That are always the worst.
You think you've found someone,
When they're not there at all.
So many good times
Have all gone down the drain,
Because everyone's a faker.
Don't you know I hate liars?
You liar, you deceitful and manipulative ****!
You *****!
I hate you,
I hate you,
And then I hate you even more.
What you have done made me fall to the floor.
I don't know how I can get through this,
Because last time I could just hate,
Which still I am doing.
You make that more difficult.
Because when all the memories
Come back again,
I don't want to believe that was you,
Surely it can't be true?
But I know too well
To be fooled more than once,
Not that there's a way you would make it twice,
Because you hate me too.
It's all because of you.
And her
And the other.
All "best friends" do
Is end up having to stab each other.
You see I am missing,
Someone nonexistent.
I knew it was too good to be true,
But that won't stop me bleeding.
I wish the 'you' I was friends with
Was actually real.
Instead I just feel messed over,
All over again.
I don't want to picture,
Not anymore,
Of what's flashing through my head.
The so many too good times.
They've been damaged again.
I trusted you
As I trusted them all,
Because you have to trust to do anything at all.
Again and again trusting proved to be devastating,
Because there is no one who actually
Has your back.
So no I don't want to picture,
I don't want another picture game.
When I'm talking about you in rants,
The devil is your name.
When I'm speaking I do not have to be sad,
It's only the times that I get to think on my own,
When I feel even more torn down.
When I see you walking around,
I wish you were not.
Do you know not what exactly you all have caused?
I can hear you all talking,
Just like we all used to do,
Then the thousands of memories
Come flooding in once again.
And until I convince myself to dry up my emotions,
I watch the dry river banks
Become diluted without letting the rain fall.
Because my tears;
You never deserved them at all.
I don't want to picture what you may think of me.
If you hate me then go on,
You can resent me as much as you can.
But maybe you'd like to know:
I stood up for you.
Even though it was proved to be true.
I didn't believe it at first,
Because it was you.
How dare you!
If you think I didn't know reasons to take sides,
Didn't you think I would defend you as I did her?
Well I ******* tried!
And if roles were reversed then I would've taken yours,
As it wasn't out of favouritism as it stood,
But because you were so unbelievable
That nothing could be done.
No friendship was saved.
Being civilised?
Well I just try to ignore your name.
What am i living for
Am i living for the hope that diminishes with time
Am i living for my family whom i was a great disappointment
Am i living for the happiness or love that never seems to arrive
Am i living for the 58dollars i got paid as my monthly salary
Am i living for the plans i made i never got the mobilities to acheive them

Maybe life treats some people preferencially
Maybe life has her own people she favours with  time
Maybe life is a politician who make empty promises
Maybe life is discriminating
Maybe life believed in the concept of favouriitism and
The principle of godfatherism

Why do some people enjoy this life as if they created it
The live a luxurous life
Intimidating the poor and surpressing them
They drive the most espensive cars and splashes water  at the poor
Some poor are there begging for a square meal
They never know what is happiness
All they do is find somewhere they could eat for the day a d move on

Life is really a politician
Life has people she made rich and people she made poor with time
Life has people she cares for and people she didnt care if they live or die

The poor suffers the most expensive sickness in the world today
With no money to cure them and they finally die with time
Malnutrition has caused the death of many childern and adult whom the principle of favouritism and godfatherism wasnt on there side

They work all day to provide food and shelter for there family
There 12hrs work per day to a month was spent on food and rent having nothing to save
There kids kids could not go to school due to the huge amount of school fees
Oh life
Oh life
Is time you start considering the tears of the poor
Oh life
Is time you remember the poor and favour them too
Is time you circulate the principle of favouritism and godfatherism and not monopolising it
Is time you give the poor reason to believe it worth to stay alive
Is time you restore the hope they already lost in you

Other than this  the cry of the poor remains
What am i living for
What am i living for
What the hell am i living for
karin naude May 2013
Need to clear my head
On the cross-over of insanity
Words and emotions running rampant
Pulling in all possible directions
Scratching at the door
The main personality is under threat
Turmoil created, but clarity is needed
Paper my only solution
Mums ashes disturbs my beauty sleep
My aunt is withholding it from me
Or can’t face the truth
It was just a task to be taken care of
Her front is empathy
When I needed it the most
I saw evil with a smile
Claiming to miss and love her sister
I am her image and legacy thrown with garbage, away
Someday we all will have to give word for our actions
Grandma took a whole year to die
She fought dying to the bitter end
Indeed the end was overly bitter and painful
This happened because she had no peace
To die you need peace and forgiveness
Was a very controlling woman
This was her downfall in the end
The same will be the fate of the last daughters
She was not tough on them
Today they are spoiled women trampling the family children
Their children is paying the price
God works with generations
For me healing begins when I share these words
My family used mum when alive
In death they give her no second thought
I miss her dearly because I was dependent on her still
In the least, the rest can honour her memory
My dreams are coded messages
My maternal grandma didn’t like me much when she was alive
In death she visits me by dreams, angry ****** expression
The dream fills me with negative emotions
Why she visits I do not know
I am afraid to find out, but curiosity is my master
I do miss her, but I do not miss the person she became in her senior years
Mean, isolated and bitter
The matriarch I revered, allowed favouritism to bring divide in her family
This is my in heritage I have to build on
“Vehicular Favouritism”

Opinion is how to know the best kind,
        What preference hath thee of the best car?
For best may be based on the ****ny find,
        Is best not simply what takes thee so far?
The sights we see attract thine eye of gold,
        Why pay unemployable hope and dream?
The best is but the one in heart found bold,
        Doth it raise heart and soul? Or self-esteem?
The ride you find to be at utmost high,
Is this the one that you daily befriend?
May it differ how thine neighbor doth fly,
Do you favour the ones they recommend?
Think of this thought now short-- which is the best?
Four wheels and an engine-- matter the rest?
-- Jacob Dexter Coffey --
Emerson Nosreme Oct 2018
Things that annoy me

1: parents telling you what to do
2: parents telling you that they wouldn't do something bad to you when they already did
3: parents telling you who to talk to
4: parents saying things that make you feel insecure even though they say they don't mean it  
5: stupid politions
6: racists
7: homophobic people
8: people who preach too much
9: killers or murders
10: close minded people
11: death
12: stupid people
13: people who aren't obvious
14: people who yell too much
15: people who try to stop you from being yourself
16: Favouritism with children
17: people who write lists of what annoys them
Sorry just needed to vent
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
a minor amnesia - nonetheless it happens,
there's another word for it...
skleroza: spontaneous forgetfulness...
this fickle creature that's memory...
thankfully i have a stash of about 5 major memories
that i like to revisit...
play them over and over in my head...
since... i'm not on the crux of death...
well... since i'm not...
i have become more prone to exercise
the freedom of memory than i might want
to watch a movie...
trouble comes when i'm not my own d.j.,
in a car... heading toward... ******* IKEA...
in Enfield... where the phlegmatic crew of
dodo are this close | | to learning the arithmetic
of time...
a song on the radio... Belinda Carlisle...
circle in the sand...
in between talking with my father...
                  nothing metaphorical about that...
- so you know how old bob marley was
when he died? 36...
- you think he would still be touring?
well... he wouldn't need the money...
**** jagger does it for the joy...
          
i can't write narratives...
it's not like we're estranged...
but... it's complicated...
i think this is one area of my life i will keep
off-limits when writing...
i can be as honest about ******
as i can be about horses...
the narrative never took place...
believe me...
we talked about a range of things...
morgage

then when we came home an hour
later than expected...
she (dearest mother)
was probably drinking alone...
throwing little tantrums of me and father
alone time...
well... not to mention he was absent
from the most crucial years of my life...
from 4 till 8...
how does the ugly side of immigration
look like? brain-drain...
we: the diaspora members...
away from the motherland...
for the "better life"...
i too am playing catch-up...
how did ol' Leo frame it?
every happy family is the same...
but every sad family is sad uniquely:
in it's own unique way...

   get Wittgenstein to sort this
tautology... i'm not going to bother...
come to think of it... it's not even
a tautology... a tautology would be more
focused on thesaurus rex...

we had a conversation about football
and music... re-mortgaging...
even Bowie remained true to music...
he probably didn't tour...
but still made new content...
singing about mortality and ****...
i think i'm having this playback moment
in my head...

but then this song came on the radio...
magic fm... belinda carlisle...
circle in the sand...
all of a sudden i had this urge to listen
to a song, that song reminded me off...
oh hell... exactly: what was it?
the search began with: 'the message'...
mc-****-fartery...
      round and round...
jokes aside... i had to listen to belinda's
song on earphones once more
before the "revelation"...

  it seems obvious... "now"...

nik ******* kershaw - the riddle...

exactly... how did i get "the message" wrong?
two strong arms... blessings of Babylon...
blah blah: toe-tying-riddle...
almost like good luck is expected...

come to "think" of it...
a revelation... even though there's that monotheistic
focus on the patriarch...
puppet... strings...
missing *******...
i'm having a hard time not thinking
that ha-shem... the nameless father of hey-zeus
and the ha-ha-mighty blah-lah-al
are not... primarily... feminine gods...
well... conjured up from a ****
rather than a working 'ed...

they're irrational... and can be reduced down
to... the three heads of Cerberus...
they are never really depicted...
worded sleuth pulp fiction harlequin traps...
most artists?
oh **** me... even the ****'ites would agree...
get your eyes to focus on something...
that's how much i dare to admire Islam...
from the ****'ite perspective...

what ******* topic is this?
i was about to pour myself another drink
and this thought like a blitzkrieg came
flushed from a ******* in the universe
where all the gods and nothings
congregate from indigestion and
constipation...
a ******* miracle: a diarrhoea moment...
of sorts...
the monotheistic veneer... of "patriarchy"...

what?! she wants a ring of gold
and my ******* too?
how about a tent's worth of a kippah
on my ******* tonsure?
a man would require a screwdriver...
a hammer... nails... screws...
it would make sense to have many
involved... than this pressure of solipsism...
vampire... succubus... leech...
a ****** hail mary...

**** speak...
                    so great... the technological advances...
atheistic secularism...
but there's a ******* grid-lock to mind too...
no a ****** dam...
a rich cognitive custard...
it's just that: a cognitive custard...
like Moses rekindling a belonging concept
along the lines of being lied to:

monotheism hardly serves man...
i can find appeals to the illusion it presents...
but... hardly...
looks like the "plenty of fish in the sea"
metaphor is drying up the concept
of a "catch"...

the conversation with my father are
off-limits in my purpose of writing in the first
place... unlike a Knausgaard...
i'm the drinker... he's the teetotaller...
he's the workhorse i'm the... chicken-scratcher:
if i had ink...
but i'm also probably ten beaks pecking
resounding at this... grand... oh my god...
******* piano of QWERTY...

genius idea... what?
qwerty... because the orthodox memory erosion
of the alphabet is of any use?
suddenly everything has to **** me off...
it has to be dipped in still water...
it has to be believable...
monotheism is concretely a religion
designated for the preservation of women...
why my *******?
oh... because if you don't have it...
i can... ******* at a leisurely pace?

that a woman can ******* without inhibitions...
while i have to be shamed?
*******, *******...
i don't even have enough slander to express
what my heart reacts to these days...
i don't have "hurt" feels...
i have... agitated feelings...
thank you for waking me up from my numb...
apathy...
but what do i hear? "hurt feels"...
****'s sake... those people don't even recognise
what feeling is supposed to feel like!
they're all french footballers... "hurt" all of a sudden...
wow! so...
"hurt" is translated into the parameters of:
feeling per se?
imagine my shock finding out that
apathy has dulled "i.q." to so little that...
you must be hurt to feel...
you can't be spontaneously agitated...
you must be hurt...

bring out the hot horseshoes...
let's have some fun branding these *******-waggling-
***** aside...

just wait for the breeders to wake up
to having children that turn into freely-arranged
agents of will...
i'm passing through a decade where there's
boasting...
but sooner rather than later...
there will be some hidden mention
of those... pickled-cabbage:
why do the 'indus find pickled cabbage
"funny"?
not eating beef sounds pretty funny...
or like that "proverb" from Morocco:
there's no water, in the desert...
then... what... the... ****... are... you...
"doing" in this, here... land of replenished
roots?!

******* camel jockeys...
what do "they" call them, proper?
sand-*******...
it would take a Bengladesi to get
smart notes on the caste "system"....
Aryan has no origin in Europe...
it probably originated in Indian when
they first came across Persians...
who are... oddly... "pale"...
but have not bartablondine aspects
of their ****** expressions...

ivory skinned like an Iranian or a ***-
without a suntan?
"you" wanted trenches...
here's my designated plot...
"you" wanted ******* to overshadow
real.. culprit-esque concerns...
the jealousy of a woman
knows not bounds...
most especially when a father-son
privacy is engaged with...

   if i ever encountered male jealousy...
it was always rare...
almost never...
         but female jealousy? anything...
everything to belittle the opposing "authority"...
ha-shem... the jealous deity of women...
blah-lah-al of...kept secrets stashed in the niqab...
allure of the ******* eyes...
come on...

****** ******* mary:
that matriarch of sold foetuses and
walking abortions...
at least there was something adventerous
in conceiving the existence of Loki...
of Thor...
there's nothing... original about the point
of monotheistic gods...
that there are three...
is Islam the truest of religions?!
they had a Sunni ****'ite schism... didn't they?
once again:
i want to believe in something:
to give me momentum...
give be a willing acceptance to excuse...
an overarching stressor of incredulity...
and a... "what life"?

well... existence is...
out of every instance: a persistence to:
instance... a persistence...
that's... existence... ex-
out of...
and stance...
dis-ease... a negation of ease...

there will be plenty more of those car
journey listening to magic fm...

an "original": whether mind, or thinker...
that mythology of evil that the Nazis provided...
******* Armani suits and boots...
or whoever designed them... Hugo Boss...
what are we left with,
to mind matters of collectivism?
the evil of censorship instigated by...
halfwits and ******* haemophiliacs?

a myth of evil that could be...
galvanised... momentum and emblem...
what's on offer... currently?
grey-suits and...
expectations: that it's the "21st century"
something magical is about to happen...
what's the difference between the 20th century
and the 18th century?
the 19th century...
so what's the difference between
a pebble, a cliff edge and a mountain?
don't know... a river? a lake?

that same **** different cover excuse
like some wonderful was going to happen
in the 21st century...
like there was a promise...
where is this **** coming from?!
oh yeah... but it's the 21st century...
i was hoping for gravity to ******* and turn all:
short-circuit awry...

i can pretend... for a while...
but after that while passes... i turn into a real mystery
of a door **** gone berserker...
are there these societal expectations
to simply **** **** the next...
blow the next... ******* origami of OXFAM
purple-fest whimpering "dead-doughnut":
although i'd cry... if it was a stray dog
from the streets of Seville...
******* camel-jockeys...

  it's not even a inhibited play on pronouns:
there's no: "they"...
i thought the trans-lobbyist covered the plug-hole
of cognitive-****...
there is not "us" or "them":
gender neutral is me...
armed with a strap-on ***** on my ******* forehead...
a bit like... that hebrew practice of...

so i had me a "friend: a fwend...
maybe that's cornish for something in velsh...
you know how word salad sounds?
on a persistence?
sure... a son of divorce...
what am i? his ******* uncle?
his mother undermined the concept
of al dente spaghetti...
we're talking fractions of people...

people eat ****... leave the universal utility
of pork aside...
mind you: not water in the desert...
and not piggy too...
the leather shoe... the belt...
it's not exactly kosher... is it?
i have this backlog of a peoples...
at least a priest only attracts confessions...
i'm not at knife point
easy... for this triad to work?

if my fwend mentioned cognitive custard...
but the concensus of word salad
is socially broke on the norm...
so blah blah boo'yah assortment...
enriched strawberries...
juicing much later...
i can understand cognitive custard... pie...
but a word salad?
that's.... what doesn't deviate from
solipsism... this solo "project"
of "you and i"...

                       psychiatry is persisting to be
deemed a branch of
the Hippocratic oath....
but it's not...it's pseudo-"medicinal"...
it's hyped-up... idon't remember
that junction in a life...
hardly worth lived... just lived...
of my 20s... what mea culpa stressor of
those psychopaths?
currents under the broken wheel of...
attempts at supressing..
momentum? this whole ******* "flake"
of barrage?

by word salad you're implying i
have, speak... low i.q....
    non-hieroglyphic suede...
non-answerable... past replica...
woe wow salad...
but how i understand it...
a cognitive custard...
well... thinking is messy:
you ******* dim-wits!
        ought-i: thought...
i don't like being ridiculed...
or expected to her a less i.q. than what's...
nuanced at a ****** favouritism... Balkan-esque...
seriously... *******: before i ****** someone...
ugh attached to that: wind... now there's a purpose...

yeah... so what's what?
this is the least of my "concern"?
well... as they say in the west...
as long as the brain-drain happens...
we can forget about keeping the native 9 to 5ams...
sort of... but hardly... justifiably...
less than expectedly...
capitalistically boast: not exhausted...
sort of...

i can understand cognitive custard...
meddle some more...
word salad?
your ******* ****- nig-
of sorts is speaking your language better than me?
******* sour crass of a native's ***!
*******...  and you deserve it.
Talk to me
Talk to me about half-finished journals and empty theaters
Talk to me about the calluses on the soles of your feet
Do you think they look like art?
Talk to me about the bobby pins stuck between the sheets of your bed
Talk to me about the broken doorbell in your childhood house
Why have you never gotten it fixed?
Do you think it says a lot about your family?
Do you think it’s a metaphor for your parents’ relationship?
Talk to me about the ghosts in your head
I wanna see if they look like mine
If they were friends in some past, unfulfilled life
Talk to me about kites
Talk to me about knee high socks
What do they remind you of?
Talk to me about spilled lemonade
Does the sourness still linger on your tongue
Long after the mess as been mopped up?
Talk to me about your 10th grade English teacher
Do you resent her blatant favouritism?
Do you wonder why she didn’t like you the best?
Do you ever wonder why
It seems like nobody likes you the best?
Talk to me about the peonies in the garbage chute
Talk to me about untied shoelaces
And an 8 year old’s skinned knees
Talk to me about slippery floors
Talk to me about illegal downloads
Talk to me about Tarsiers
Talk to me about oil pastels
Do you prefer them over any other art medium
Because they are dirtier, messier and more difficult to work with it?
Talk to me about recycling
Do you think it’s pointless?
Or do you think it’s gonna make a significant difference?
Talk to me about Broadway musicals
Talk to me about Hercules
Have you ever dreamed of being immortalized
Through the whispering of the stars?
Talk to me about god
Do you think god made man
Or did man make god?
Talk to me about clay pots
Talk to me about cacti
Talk to me about the color grey
Talk to me about plastic balloons
When did you learn that the art of letting go
Is closely intertwined with the tragedy of loss?
Talk to me about films
Talk to me about knuckles
What do you tell your grandmother
When she asks why they are bruised and wounded?
Talk to me about Geishas
Talk to me about roadtrips
And that one time when you were 15
And you drove away in your older brother’s car
Feeling young and reckless and so so alive
Talk to me about pain
Every stabbing hurt
Every mouth filled with blood
Talk to me about joy
Both the abundance and the lack of it
Talk to me about love
And warmth
And light
And the sound of coming home
Talk to me
Write your life’s story on torn Christmas wrappers
And I will hold them in my hands like sacred beads of prayer
Talk to me
Open the cracks of your spine and engulf me in the shade of your eyes
Talk to me

Let me in
Set forth, I endlessly walked about
In search of salvation for my doubt,
I heard not once the birds in chirp,
Nor did I hear a prayer usurped,
I struggled to find a cause for all,
I found clarity in a sunken wall,
It was aside the path entangled,
So close to the edge, it nearly strangled
The sunken road upon which it lay,
But kept along those lead astray.
-
My footsteps seemed to echo on
The mass of bricks they stomped upon,
Once, I’m sure, a gorgeous red,
The bricks were grey now, neutral and dead,
Favouritism struck some paths here and there,
Popular people, families, and fare,
Though some stood alone, the weeds grown around,
Forgotten names and unsodden ground,
They hadn’t lost yet their sense of foreboding,
The lone standing pillars of remembrance, eroding.
“Food for worms…” I muttered and quoted,
Alas, the meaning, I couldn’t have doted,
For ”seizing the day” had it not meant to me,
But rather a gloomy sense of mortality,
I felt as though nothing ever mattered,
The human existence, dark and clattered
About the same misery,
We all must live, but we’ll never be free.
-
Searching out the scenery,
I, lost in thought, was scant to see,
How beautiful the day then was,
Broken down and all because
The sun didn’t seek the pavement’s shine,
The wind slightly whispered through the vine,
The grass, most dead, gently bobbed,
The light, the corrosive clouds did rob,
And it struck me in sections as to how it is,
To seek, to find, to know what love is.
-
Admiring this path, its twists and turns,
I rather likened it to Life unnerved,
It seemed as though all ends to life,
Congregated amongst all terms of strife,
Like all waterways unto the ocean,
They all met here in tumultuous commotion,
Lessons and morals could always be learned,
But this experience was what I yearned.
Alienpoet Sep 2016
Apocalypse redux
Interacting with our tear ducts.
We fly our flags
Until they are draped on our coffins
While weapons are tested by boffins
Sold to our enemies
Who fire them at us
While pop stars can only sing
Insipid love songs
What happened to protesting?
That's right we have give notice to the powers that be
The government which seems to control the BBC
So protests don't get reported
We are more interested in who gets deported
Than helping mankind
We bombed their countries to the brink of annihilation
Is there no room in our nihilism?
That is in our souls
We are more short sighted than moles
Love is only favouritism when we don't extend it to all of the human race
Compassion has died God cradles their face.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
in love with the sign language i taught myself: wave, and then extend your *******... it's called a hang-job in signlanguage; it's like waving a goodbye, with the goodbye being more a ****-off, than a goodbye: god give me better grace, i love the shake of the hand as if jerking off, and subsequently the extended ******* to add the compliment; ****! it almost feels like the welsh V!

i know how it feels being an "illegal" immigrant,
second time round though?
   legal as a kite, or a yellow submarine,
but that's beside the point, as i told my father
today: you've seen the state of english
these days? these acronyms and the middle
class favouritism of emojis?
you've seen it? this is a language?!
these are covert methods to prevent people
from learning computing code!
**** em, someone has to shove em,
kick em up their lazy **** *****!
           work you cunty *** sleazes!
work! what? not congregating on
the monasteries? imagine me as a rabid
dog, owned by henry viii, about to chew
off your leg!
   ****** thinks i'm not "properly" integrated...
so why is it, that i know english language
better than your ****** populace?!
riddle me that, all day, from monday through
to sunday, and the irish bank holiday,
a ****** like me loves a bit of
riverdance on the sly...
       so?
                hello?!
                   so you gonna ******* do it,
or retreat into your lil 'obbit 'ole?
******* *******...
         no wonder the i.r.a. gave up:
who gives a toss about fighting transvestite
***** after 20+ odd years...
even the spies were like: you will not
find me engaging in this sort of *****
for the next 'undred years...
   i'll genuflect st. paddy's shamrock
and call it jewish twice over,
than behave like those, ******* perverts
of the
ęnglischspreschen* -
and that's what you call fishing,
my mired youngling.
i tol my papa: ******* keepin' wit'
the times?!
    look at 'em... ugly 'n' "spontaneous"
like the ******* elephant man...
         ooh: goonah fly an eff off wit a kyt...
like **** you yo will...
     fly me a yorkshire spud 'stead 'irst...
you ******* dartford dodger....
       said the 'ackney lass...
see: i speak more english than the 'acking
english....
     it's about akin to 'eaching poker:
you learn the cockers:
you learn the:
                   two doors down luv,
and if ders no shlang for that 'ort of phrase:
there ****** ought to be, next week:
    ya 'acking cockney 'onker!
now i feel like a right *******...
         or like i really need a propah
jerking off... which is y means that
it can only be
answered in jai jai, or the slip of tongue
on led zeppelin's d'yer mak'er, as
the scots 'aid - druid in make-em mon -
   what's that, maca ******* roons?
       tall order, for slanging off almonds,
****, 'et's toast 'em,
           ******* were never gonna
          learn the ******* bagpipes anyway
just tell 'em to learn the dog whistle,
or the orchestra's triangle.

— The End —