Propaganda in the Mornin'

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, July 17, 2011 Under: Rhymed Verses


Brick,
mortar,
and a sprinkle of patriotism.



Opera house in a strange meadow, the phantom in autumn leaflets
Tempura orange lake waters entrenched in dissolvent creases
Tadpoles scramble through jaundice regions like a dance of the Polynesians
Incense rises above the ibis as the tribes ignite candles of chronic tree skin
The civilized man, curse his soul - such a cancerous ball of treason
witch doctors vanished after they had our garrison marred with lesions
Tectonic plates at needlepoint -
If you look closely at their hands you’ll understand why their palms are bleeding
Jesus descends from heaven to the rescue - then a giant tarantula gobbles Jesus
The jungle now a damaged collage of dense savanna mirage
It’ll take at least a good handful of months before a philanthropist opts to reach them.
A continent of bodies moving as one, the sound of drum scraping drum
The Mayan eclipse a rum raisin on a sun bathing tongue
So what if Agent Orange works for the FBI? They gassed us, right?
Suicide may be a sensitive subject to bring up in the afterlife
It’s like an Afghan orphanage how all these little bastards run to me
You lost your war - it’s good business for the casket companies
There were Ashen Pakis rummaging through abandoned Arabian boats
Bought an apartment in Venice - financially we’re barely staying afloat
Split Damascus down the middle with barbarian prose
Blue eyed in demeanor, and notice my clearly Aryan nose
The tree huggers burnt down with the trees! All peaceful areas closed!
White flags bloodstained, let the poor people carry them home
Bury their drones, in the wake of the falling nuclear-Bavarian snow
Observe my subservient words served with a smile…
Rustling birds unearthing a pile of heads from the Cerberus trial
Any era, any form of combat, I’ll bet it’s always the same old shit
Some general‘s last words: “What the fuck -- I thought a blitzkrieg was a potato dish…”
But burn the babies, draft every infant from suburb’s and well wish em’
In hell’s kitchen it’s chicken soup for the soul served to Hades
It’s okay if you prefer to hate me.
Just allow the pacifists passage for the hermits safely
The Jewish people should’ve known that their existence made Germans angry
Far from a star wars enthusiast, so I won’t mention a space quirk
We were apes first - but Queen Padme’s make up was tested on apes first
And since my late birth, we’ve been roaming planets pondering a homeless analogy
Now I guess I’ll finish off the verse without a tone of finality.

In : Rhymed Verses 



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