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The Past will be different
In time I will add a new line
The pages that flutter are clearly defined
As I swimmingly flip a cartwheel divine
In an olympic sized mind
It's a hurricane that's on the horizon
Those are lazy souls that are dancing
A grand parade of packaged Waltzers
In painful loud-mouthed postures
And all these cellphones gonna give us Cancer
Just listen to all the angelic belly laughter
Only we could change celebration to disaster
Sunburning under infrared bar scanners
Text message all those woodcut Cristos
Twitter all the damasked 15th century barrons
I gots ingots of gold pots for I pods
And better Facebook the Last Samurai
Do you speak Gaelic? Are you fond of Garlic?
Can you emoticon my emotions in oceans of ions?
Director's commentary on opening night of 12th night?
Get Aldrin to IM Armstrong: OMG yo on the moon dog, lolz
