They tease me,
Wretched beasts of the abyss.
Holding out my hand,
They turn their heads in the sight of shit.
So they walk,
Shoes clattering rapidly,
Hurrying, past the stench.
Passing the sign that reads
"Gimme a buck, you'll get it back..."
A gasp rings out.
Dear fellows, old men are no better than young.
Their shoes carry a certain purified disdain, though.
Rotating, twirling, gyrating,
Citizens! Wrinkled and pretty, everywhere,
Moving their asses, in a world of change!
Readers, you want to see me gone,
the ambiguous “They” want to see me gone.
No more crazies,
No more radicals, sitting in puke.
O! I understand. No room here,
Not for the downwardly mobile nobles living in the bathroom.
Readers, Hello! You've read the wrong stuff,
And I admit it.
I'm a pseudo-Junk Merchant!
I’ve relinquished my tie from service and cast off my trousers!
Won't lie in filth with me?
Won't tolerate disrupted apathy?
Friends, I am leaving.
I am going to the cliff,
Going off to the isle of Manisfree.
Slowly, I stride there.
Please, release me from your 9-5 cyclical world.
And now, dears, I am off. Off and half. Today, I
have a calm ceremony to become mist.
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