Most Serene Republic Heavens To Purgatory
Now’s the time for age of humans care for what
can be done for yourself. The in respect then out
will cling itself to seeming hopefuls.
Now we sing on a bridge for your own half,
heavens to purgatory.
Gadzooks! Gadzooks! Gadzooks! What have you
got to lose?
What you are is fast, the glance and telephone,
ring those portable sling.
Deal with foggy folds you are here without
consent except for your own.
Records of our discontentment, will but purge
since one has found it, awfully hard to keep a
grimace, voltage from another’s counting.
We’re such plants -- oxygen, xylem, phloem -- in the
wrists, pumps to the greed of your delusion to a
blind knowledge of sight from fall
chosen from spring.
Records of our discontentment, will but purge
since one has found it, awfully hard to keep a
grimace, voltage from another’s counting.
