This is a poem I wrote just a little while ago about the hypocrisy of our mainstream counterculture. It's untitled as of yet, and It's one of my favorites...here goes...tell me what you think... The Old Man of The Varden took his panpipes out to play The Chickadees all despise him but The Ants want him to stay They don't know nothing The Jester did reply but His Eyes are closed as tightly as The King and I The Fireflies of Dissention don't know what to do They're allied with The Bumblebees (but so are me and you) And still The Old Man of The Varden Takes his Panpipes put to play The Chickadees all despise Him but The Ants want Him to stay The Pigs are in The Courtyard It's a Happy Sunny Day They romp among The Slithy Toves but don't know what to say Ignorance, Hypocrisy You know it's all The Same 'Cause it's hard to think of Virtue When you play The Killing Game And still The Old Man of The Varden takes His Panpies out to play The Chickadees all adore him now The Ants want Him away The gnashing teeth which glisten This is something you should have seen twenty years or more before I call it the machine a perfect paradox for which we only pray that The Old Man of The Varden might Return to Us Someday...
