Come with me,

Come with me to netherland

Cried the

Boy

His emerald cap

Shifting ever so

Slightly

To the north

To the star.

Home of adventures

Home of pirates and

Mermaids

Fantasies

Nightmares

Lost

Lost

Boys.

Striped fur and

War paint

But made of

Mud

Not

Blood

Never

Blood

For those

Lost

Lost

Boys.

Come be our mother

Come and love us

They cry

Childish tears

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Down those flushed

Children’s cheeks

Coming home with

Scrapes

Grazes

Sniffling at the blood

Hissing at the hurt

But no scars

Never scars for these

Lost

Lost

Boys

Silvery lines just

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Of them.

You’ll never get away

We’ll make you pay,

How drunk

Are they?

On that righteousness

Glory

That they will play

Wars with

Men

Monsters

Mermaids

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys.

How far,

Do you think,

Do The waters of netherland run?

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Into that

Star-flecked

Ocean.

Deep

Enough for

Little boys to

Drown

Methinks

Deap enough to

Forget

Mothers

Sister

Fathers

Methinks

Deap enough that

Tears?

Tears?

They will be nothing

Methinks

Those

Lost

Lost

Have no idea

How

Truly

Truly

Lost they really

Are.

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys,

Follow her

Those blond

Strands of hair

Drifting

Drifting

Drifting

Ever so

Slightly

South

Back

Home.

Methinks

They will come

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys

Come with me,

Come with me to netherland

Cried the

Boy

His emerald cap

Shifting ever so

Slightly

To the north

To the star.

Home of adventures

Home of pirates and

Mermaids

Fantasies

Nightmares

Lost

Lost

Boys.

Striped fur and

War paint

But made of

Mud

Not

Blood

Never

Blood

For those

Lost

Lost

Boys.

Come be our mother

Come and love us

They cry

Childish tears

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Down those flushed

Children’s cheeks

Coming home with

Scrapes

Grazes

Sniffling at the blood

Hissing at the hurt

But no scars

Never scars for these

Lost

Lost

Boys

Silvery lines just

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Of them.

You’ll never get away

We’ll make you pay,

How drunk

Are they?

On that righteousness

Glory

That they will play

Wars with

Men

Monsters

Mermaids

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys.

How far,

Do you think,

Do The waters of netherland run?

Rolling

Rolling

Rolling

Into that

Star-flecked

Ocean.

Deep

Enough for

Little boys to

Drown

Methinks

Deap enough to

Forget

Mothers

Sister

Fathers

Methinks

Deap enough that

Tears?

Tears?

They will be nothing

Methinks

Those

Lost

Lost

Have no idea

How

Truly

Truly

Lost they really

Are.

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys,

Follow her

Those blond

Strands of hair

Drifting

Drifting

Drifting

Ever so

Slightly

South

Back

Home.

Methinks

They will come

Those

Lost

Lost

Boys

If anything should happen to The Hague,
if someday they abandon Amsterdam,
philosophers will take these strange and vague
descriptions, and derive each tree and tram
by mathematical necessity:
should nations shake their fists across the seas
with words of war, it follows there must be
a middle ground, a people loving peace.
And is this scrap alone a netherland?
Not so: we spend our nights beneath the sky,
and every country's low for us, who stand
a thousand miles below the lights on high;
if only I could learn to live as such,
and count myself as kindly as the Dutch.

speaker of inferior tongues
you may not cross this earthen border
traitor from the Netherland suns
your chaos mask smells of forced order

on this land we do not follow law
on this sacred land i demolish your flaws

your genetic traits bear a history of ****
you have no true rank
and you have no ethnic tribe
your courtship is pathetic
your existence a mistake
i'm gonna have your baby
and then leave it on a cliff to die
i'm howling with laughter
as i curse its blasphemous blue eyes

***** of your mother's ****
as you lie with joy beside me
you'll think of names for your first son
whose birth is utmost blasphemy

on this land we do not interbreed
on this sacred land i destroy your vile seed

your genetic traits bear a history of ****
you have no true rank
and you have no ethnic tribe
your courtship is pathetic
your existence a mistake
i'm gonna have your baby
and then leave it on a cliff to die
i'm howling with laughter
as i curse its blasphemous blue eyes

The flat island floods
for want of a ****;
the land turns to mud,
the landsman alike;
  cursing the robin,
  the jay and the shrike.

I am from a town who never loved me,
Until Captain Hook took me away
From I am a lost gurl from Netherland,
Who hangs out with Peterpan

I am from bending laws abd cutting rules,
From I’m about to risk it all for I ain’t got too much to lose.
I am form revenge is the best medicine,
From to increase the dose and to unleash the monsters.

I am from no trust and broken promises,
From lack of hope and freedom.
I am from lying and keeping secrets from my parents,
From new arguments everyday.
I am from being misunderstood and putting others before myself,
From forging others and moving on in life.
I am from a useless child in their eyes,
From being emotionally separated to them in life.

.                                              swedes,
**** germans
mispronouncing names,
russians not giving
a ****:
козел... koza (female,
gender plural neutral),
   kozioł...
  (male, gender exclusive
non plural)...
mongols...
     mongols esp.,
"as if" we protected
the peoples of the western
hinterlands...
the low-lands...
ottoman turks...
   świnia - (female) pig...
male pig?
                  k'nur.
ever ear the male pig's reply
"trapped" in a trough
with a harem handy?
            you want
to play the grammar game?
i'll play the grammar game!
my people protected
your people,
for this lot of **** and *******?!
you have to be kidding me...
no, really,
you have to be kidding me,
for, ****'s sake!
point being: you don't like me,
and.. given the current
pakistani **** gang
example: i'm clearly not
able... to like you, either...
     so... we're even...
aren't we, herr anglais?!
           i'm all for it,
your people telling a bunch
of more of your people
how to rewrite grammar...
   no.. no..
this is not a foreign invasion...
it's allocated to:
having the ***** to say
that you were already thinking...
but doing nothing about...
instead pillow mastering
the lease on
a football match...
         ******,
******, ******, beyond
the st. peter's cockerel...
fourth time: a complete,
and utter... ******!
          this! this is the respect
i or we are to receive?!
cheap labourer wages...
right...
     guess what...
you deserve that, which you,
have reaped...
                 no...
this time: it's a variety of:
not really...
           you snippet your
******* netherland tulips...
you collect
your fwench asparagus...
        and your english
apples...
              your belgian
****-up-chocs...
          suddenly i feel "ambitious"...
not that i will gain anything
from it,
it's not like i will meet a
****** beauty and start a family
with her...
    but i will: be left,
death assured...
with the sort of peace that
leaves me without
making a: the west will survive
argument...
            whatever the hell
that implies...
                 i'm buying time
until the eroticism of ******
of a heart-attack...
              levels me to
a waited for plateau...
                  
mind you:
i'm lucky to express these
"fweelings" in this language...
this grand an feral land...
where spring gives off
a scent of winter,
and the scent being:
    auburn, the slow burning of
wood... smokey...
even among these spring bloom
colours... the persistent winter
clarifies the perfumery
of the night...
with... something akin
to smoking oak barrels...
should an eel sleeze itself in,
or a salmon,
or a liter of whiskey...
akin to the english,
i too take pride...
   christianity only came 'ere
in 962AD...
the romans never set foot
on these lands...
        i have a skin's worth
of tattoos...
these are my, tattoos...
  the battle of grunwald
(15 july 1410)
   the battle of vienna
(12 september 1683)...
here you go... my tattoos...
the battle for moscow
(september 1 and 3, 1612)...
hastings...
the battle of hastings...
              i'll speak the language
of the natives...
but please don't think
i'll just, "simply"...
   blank the rest of me
for a ******* chinese take-away
tattoo of ideogram on my bicep!
there are limits to being
reasonable...
once you cross them...
don't expect any paddy power
enforcement to make it
compliant to continue to fake
entertaining the sikh
turban...
         like unto like...
             i hate being made being
patronißed...
because by then...
why wouldn't i contradictorily
side with someone, akin to,
                       herr zeppelin?
you take pride in yours,
i will take pride in mine...
             then we're even...
i just can't become bothersome
with these mickey mouse
quasi-communists
of the current social narrative...
just say it out-loud:
we miss the old soviets,
we miss the old soviets,
we miss the cold war narrative,
we miss the old soviets...
given, what you're producing
right now?
it's not something to be feared...
deplatform: sure...
but do you have the power
to cut the electricity supply
to my house?
  no... i guessed just as much...
internet banking and
shopping,
the internet from the late 1990s
with internet chatrooms...

              you really just miss
the old soviets, don't you?
with capitalism having imploded
upon itself...
   you stand before your own
worst enemy:
                                 yourself!

enveloped in your embrace
sinking safely to the
netherland where
my lipstick meets your face
sticking calmly to your cheek
an imprint made to last, I
could feel it for years after
I grabbed the memory
from the air as it was created
knowing the moment
would fly by with
such speed, but i can still
feel your skin through my shirt
and your fingertips tracing
my chin, cheek, and hairline
I can feel your eyes as they
wander amazed as i sob
tears in your passenger seat
and conclude with a warrant
to kiss you
not knowing if i’ll have
the time again
to show how much love
can pour from my skin
and into yours lighting a fire
that would still be burning
the afternoon after
the coffee and cigarettes
were gone. There’s beauty
in disaster and truth in struggle
and i found both of the better
with you. Smiling and laughing
and asking about my day
and always being tucked in
so tight
like i was precious cargo

Of thee virtual netherland...
courtesy one spellbound wordsmith
within apartment b44
nestled within a manor
(and manner of writing)
atop nondescript Schwenksville highland.

All gibbets zing aside
I got noose for you,
yours truly enjoys harmless chide
ding even kibitizing about,
when cessation of consciousness occurs
leaving terrestrial plane
frequently incorporates divine spirit as guide
absolute zero escape
regarding death to override.

Oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,

while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession,
deadline could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand)
do talking heads

to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable
mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –

a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread,
cuz tis better late

than never, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...foreign ha Kate
the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate

a de coup age d'etat,
but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate,
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to ****** a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances
twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.