Who plays such music that these chimps dance to? In such cacophonous sounds, hiding behind with their bellies protruding. Hissing to music like snakes would do with split spitting tongues. Do they know what they are doing? Someone should get a mask or we may all be infected. They are not speaking in tongues of course... I hold my breath for this. For large potbellies stand between their head, and the lower part of what is left to be called a body. Their stomach acting better than their brain. Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to say what I saw. The oozes from their month, hmmm! You can’t wait to wash with clean clothes.
Who handed the baton to those mopping fools? Standing up in lazy forms, disgusting with your fake smiles. Waving goodbye while the office files burns. Of course, what will it benefit them for the fireman to use his hose. For they have signed us off again, to the dungeon of death-rows. Whilst the paper trails goes down in flame, alleluia kumbaya is their chorus choice. For their masters word leads them to nodding frenzy- tokay gecko. Your symphonous sound of loot is from a poor widows shelf. Shame on you, Zombies of the upper house.
Oh! Who did this to you? Indiana Jones stole all the gold, the skulls, robbing even barebones of the dead, but you, you had to more and plus, even starving kiddies, malnourished in their mother’s womb have not been spared. See them drive off in posh cars to the gratitude of their soul. Don’t you have conscience to turn to? Must you loose even the qualms of it.
Why should I care? My pen is all I have got. Zombies of yes chamber, Feel for the ones who sent you there, for those attires have long lost the appeals of new found state. Everyday feels the same here, hyenas from the same breed, roaming this weird wide west like nothing to offer. Seeking only to devour than to spare.
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