So also did many thousands unfurl, little girl,
dancing on and humping their neighbors’ cars,
spraying play money over the windshield and grill,
charring meat under a cigar and glass of sparkling cider,
with pitchblende shades above to hide the insult of their eyes.
See, you only entered their garish lottery, deary,
based around drawing whoever is currently most loved,
hey, you don’t have to give a damn or be grateful either,
just realize that whatever you eventually decide to do,
ultimately only matters how many others will approve.
Stick it in there somewhere when you’re lonely, honey,
remember that sea of losers the helicopter rescued you from,
those belligerent who wanted to cut your swinging ladder,
and the trusted agencies pushing them toward a death spiral,
by making great use of repeating the same lie a million times.
Sleek limos run you down unharmed across a green screen,
even our president has got you below foaming in his ears,
on to nighthawk comedians exchanging your backside stock,
until morning to pour out a hearty bowl of your colorful cereal,
where your day of rule starts again orchestrated by your friends.
Simply choose from the disposable fruit that your laborers bring,
force a juicy crooked smile as it splatters their dresses on cue,
reach deep in their safes and feel those wicked bites of traps,
all the while pretending to defiantly tell off anyone in authority,
followed constantly by their probing cameras for every orifice.
Sharwrong's Song 