Third Murderer
I saw Warren Buffet on a tuffet.
He kicked my ass.
I showed Donald Trump my Heffalump.
He turned on the gas.
It’s hard out here. You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers. Like in Macbeth.
Tom McGrath is dead.
And Adorno is too.
Many more have fled.
This overstocked zoo.
It’s hard out here. You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers. Like in Macbeth.
Poetry doesn’t change a thing.
You’re not sure that’s right.
You awake and sing
The World of Lite.
It’s hard out here. You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers. Like in Macbeth.
Everything’s ok.
You got your Sunday toot.
All’s a play.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
It’s hard out here. You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers. Like in Macbeth.
Angels is coming.
Trumpets are flourishing.
He knows were dumb
And continually perishing.
It’s hard out here.You can hardly gets your breath.
All my pretty ones? All? Just like in Macbeth.
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