eXtolling The Virtues of.......

 


An'other perpetual memory, morphing as
it grows in the misfortune that is human mind.

(Howdy, how'how, how deep can we be?)

Eyeing the snake with big envy, every syllable
that happens Not to hiss, is just a cry for pity and glory.

(Look at how he slithers, peaking the notice of
 all his prey in a paralyzed pretension, which soon
is the talk of the town, and sooner yet, the Speak
of a nation of rodents and imbeciles, glibly on their
way to work.)

No more apprehension. No more grief.
No more dead daughters, (with one exception),
No more public outcry about anyone who has
disappeared,


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