To Sir, With Love

Old women sitting at the last booth on the left conversing about

Their sex lives as a waitress gets eyed down by her manager.

Meanwhile, a cynical Irishman drinks his sorrows away

As his son is somewhere sticking needles of stupefacient opiates into the vein of his cock,

Because it's the only gratifying byway left.

Meanwhile, suburban family couples quarrel on divorce,

As their children battle to the death on who gets the last cookie.

Meanwhile, teenagers are under the bleachers

Fornicating like wild rabbits for no consensual purpose

But to serve their wild teenage hormonal pleasures.

Going to church in the morning,

Promising their parents of celibacy.

Meanwhile, somewhere, a schizoid is howling away at the moon,

As the orderly fastens his straight jacket.

Meanwhile, homosexual antics are being executed in front of a congress hall.

Expressing human freedom to the wolf-like bastards,

Who try and take it away.

Meanwhile, endless messages of sex, drugs, and top 40s are broadcast

Into the vulnerable teenage mind as she tries to discover herself.

With delusions of humanity continuously flowing in and out

Of her disgusting, puke-filled mind.

Meanwhile, the media, an aimless pack of hounds,

Scrounge for the latest scoop on celebrity lives,

Inadvertently driving them to the very borders of the human stress level.

Putting shotguns in their mouths,

And drugs in their veins.

Reporting about the solidified swill that they've manifested.

Meanwhile, a crooked politician feeds the hungry public

Table scraps from the imperial dinner,

Tossing them to the wild dogs of America.

Who are ensconced in their homes,

Watching late night infomercials.

Never once peeking out of their caves.

We sit and attend our own wakes,

As we reluctantly disintegrate to the sound of drums,

Beating invariably in our minds.

We follow our own beats,

Yet we all work for the same constitution and the same goal.

A conveyor belt of capitalism,

We leisurely ride down to where we inevitably will receive our untimely fate.

Which was remitted to us in fine print

On the back of McDonald's napkins and Starbucks coffee cups.

They'll sit on the edge of their seats,

Point their gnarly fingers at you,

And call you godless for living a passionate, allusive lifestyle.

They'll throw you into dungeons for asserting your message to the public.

The ones they wish to put strings on and control,

creating a nation of mindless puppets following god's law.

Give us your tired,

Give us your poor,

And in turn we will give you a life of ceaselessly battling our foundation.

Welcome to America

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