Get to the point
Rush it
I'm so tired of the playfulness
The winks to wit and older, golder times
No less shallow but infinitely more twisted
We're losing our minds,
With each day
With each headline
We're giving up time to history's second page
I'll move to the UK
Or maybe to Paris
Perhaps to India;
No.
To Sao Paulo
Where I'll watch the dichotomy drag
And mar the ugly line 'twixt the sad and the accepting
My tower of swaying ideals the anchor
For the memories not far past
Where the Lady of Liberty saturated the negative
Of my youngster persona
Join the council of ambivalent firsthand mental historians
We'll shock the New World, babe, and wontcha sing along with me?
In tune and out of reality; Just the way I metcha
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