They,
they call me greedy,
exclusive,
taciturn. . .

That I've learned
from my disease
--chronic listening--
which voices
I'd rather not hear.

Most of these sing song smiley faces
beat you to the punch as if they're racing
past you after a ******* badge.

You want a badge?
Well good for you.
Go online and buy one.
They said "spill your guts"
And So you spill out *******.
Thinking that you're making friends,
while I'm hard pressed to believe you
would be believed by anyone worth friending.
You want a badge? Good for you!
I'll make you a deal if you decide to buy one.
I'll pay the cost for the custom laser engraving:
"Sheriff Big ****" in the land
of      "No      One      Gives      A      ****"

Welcome to the Sindicate
Of utter stupidity
Where all tactile contact
Is inhibited by the puny mind

You are a villain
Of these modern times of change
In primal times
How I would have deranged
Your features
Like the animal within me
Tells me so

To take justice into my own hands
Hone it like never before
Then plant it
Into your ridiculous behind

Then maybe some sense will grow
Instead of spewing idle catchphrase
When all wisdom has  escaped
From your old diuretic mind

Then maybe you will see
Beyond your need for controversial
Lust for simple power
Over the sheep you fail to herd

To manipulate the many
Your voice must be heard
But its pointless tribulation
When all around you curd
At your arrogance

Now the freshly programmed
Atmosphere turns at the smell
Of your ***** discussion
Riddled with moth *****

Slurring all the ignorance
You can muster in one
Uninformed, uncontemplated instant
Which has roused the warrior
So I may slay this fool

Only to stop the cringe of colleagues
As they put up with your impertinence
How I wish that all intelligence
Did not exist for a time

So that all the grime that lies within me
Can swallow you whole
So you may have a taste of darkness
To counteract the light
That shines
Out
Of
Your
***

On the ticket for mayor of Sarnia,
Was a sixties bloke, one Wills Rawana;
But the anti-*** vote,
With good conscience can't support,
A politico called Mayor Rawana.

The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept

To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call

We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you

This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse

A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me

It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band

The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin

The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess

He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show

The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black

Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door

The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie

Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end