Leeches

The leeches in the tap water
Have left it running on again
The ghettos shoot the slugs
To rush in rinsing off their salty skin
All of this foolish folly
Is probably just the fault of pens
So ever since the day that “Atlas Shrugged”
I’ve been John Galt-ing them
We are not the puppets
It’s the government who brought them in
My mind is My mind
So if I mine mine
It’s not for grins
If I flare it on the alter
I might alter what I’ve ought to been
But who receives the offering?
Seems like corporate welfare is an awful sin
I don’t promote us offing them
I say let them irrigate their fences
While we practice pole vaulting in
Turning off the tap
Until their sordid sopping thins
Let it all leak out
And hand them mops
While they’re congealing
So they can feel it
while they mop their kin
But I hear the sound of water dripping
Fuck...
not again...