First we torture language.
Then we torture men.
Make bonfires of our anguish,
and fear beyond our ken.
We turn the screws on grammar,
time and time again.
To make us dumb and dumber;
like lambs in the lion’s den.
We put the boot to culture,
for we know it’s not our friend.
Ideas restrained and captured
spray, less pepper in cayenne.
First we hobble language,
with a swift kick to the shin.
With troubles nicely sandwiched,
we can let the feast begin.
We beat the feet of history,
to confess it’s fleshy sin.
The sleazy side of mysteries,
that crawl beneath the skin.
In terms of good and evil,
we will dress the lavish spin:
when the choice is kill or be killed
then, at all costs, we must win!
First we torture language.
Then we torture men.
We burn the books of memory,
and rely on luck and zen.
First we torture language.
Then we torture men.
And when we’re all the enemy,
then, will torture end?
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