The tight trench with a slight water flow
If good for the image pretend to be short on dough
I could hear an exaggeration two sentences after
well timed moderation inducing soft false laughter
You can impress all demands
But they look up grin in hand
The one that fits across their hungry faces
Over the trench to their tents your grace
A narrow creek running up to the project
The feast is set gluttony gut opiate regret
We sit on the margins smiling with bowls
Of well boiled gruel and a stick dried fowl
Sun beats down on umbrellas lords and ladies
Who spun etiquette mysteriously bliss and bless
their own private dramas and emotional neediness
How they elegantly move ignoring the real world
renaming it after their dining room wishes and thanks
Where tunnels to the future arrive directly under banks
Where locks and screw conspire along the passages
Opening the vaults on those checks and balances
while the help just wanders up and down the trench
Soiled by the dirt and sun tired peasant and wench
Insane and simple celebrating an existence in dumb
as if made with your fingers under your thumb
The odd one will rob you
Most just beseech you for wheat
A corner of the shade a gram of yeast
as they witness you waste the food the feast
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário