For we are nuts in May
What more can I say?
For it has all been said before
It isn’t some unwritten law
But why should I bore
All those whose poetry
Repeats the god-like words
Of all the poets that have gone before
And after

What laughter
What joy does the scribbling pen bring
Makes my heart leap – makes me want to sing
What sorrow
And deep depressing brow I could bring
But such is life
The unending strife
I have a paint brush in my hand
I mean to colour the dreary old land
Banish the darkness
From whence it came
I shall shove the dankness
Back into its cave.

I’ll leave the audience to rave
Over the bloodied spoils of war
You can lift the charred bodies
From the floor
In front of the electric chair
You can explain to the wives
Why their soldier husband can’t be here
You can listen to the aborted
If only you would dare
I’ll write rhythms and songs
For I don’t belong
Ina world where
Everyone is running scared.