...and so it was when it wasn't then,
the sorrowful multitude reveled in their sin.
Henceforth barbaric blades cut down on my monkey,
And betwixt the days their lust for money,
Cut was the ember that burned even brighter,
God then saw they were corrupt, not righter.
Fuzzy eye stems melted as digits to the sky.
Clasping to long lost hope, in them their lust did fry.
Great wings were always imagined, so spew they did,
Realizing destruction by their collective id.
With shallow attempts all pills were tried,
Rackets in hand, they aborted their pride.
With rage yet to menace;
Anyone for tennis?
-Chuck Weaver 1997 |
