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Pretty House
Pretty house: the mind is the ghetto.
Triumph: the failure is losing ourselves.
The monarch asked,
What titles his Queen was born with.
The commoner wondered what title his Queen really has.
Anxiously, The Queen awaited the answer…
Grabbing his nuts,
It was the complexity of gender which scared him.
The baby cried his tears of birth,
And then died.
The monster grasped life, more than cried it;
Then was brought down.
The moralist strangely felt he had lost a hero.
The man holding his son is taunting me;
Not all love leads to fucking.
The son is letting go of his father,
Its time for fucking.
The philosopher feels alien, counting his blessings;
He was taught not to question reality.
Like the Christian taught to accept reality,
Realistic or not;
Like the woman breathing in her coffin.
The sanctity of human life,
Means I shouldn’t impregnate a cow;
Fucking them is permissible.
So these fat cows fuck their wives;
With small tits,
And a smaller brain,
But don’t underestimate their fears;
They’re too thoroughly cultured for anything else.
