You’ve been throwing books without much logic,
You’ve handed Jeffrey Sachs a rope and whip. Consulting with Joan Quigley about progress,
While mountains crash around sick slaughtered pigs.
There’s only one good answer to, all the stupid questions you,
Rhetorically keep asking me, as if one sided silence understands.
You’re loyal to God and to his country, but every war is Pyrrhic in success.
Your regal manners contrast with your morals, I noticed all your neighbors have scarred
wrists. Your mouth has dysentery, let me take those
straws you’re clutching, Cause I want more than fifteen minutes, to
build a box that I can stand on.