Behind the Elephant
I’m not through working, just through.
It’s been a long, short night and day;
I’ve run along behind the elephant, wielding my bucket, mop and tray and holding my nose to clear your way.
The army of keepers, losers and weepers, a nation of sweepers follow behind the elephant, in the messes it’s making by lies and muck-raking.
But why are we taking what falls behind the elephant?
We should be out voting.
Instead we are quoting B-list actors while choking on the piles behind the elephant.
Weather’s here, wish I were fine.
For such times I’ve said too much.
A long strange trip it’s been again, just like every other state of mind or state of empty bitterness and sin: another fine mess I’ve got me in.
The army of keepers, losers and weepers, a nation of sweepers follow behind the elephant, in the messes it’s making by lies and muck-raking.
But why are we taking what falls behind the elephant?
We should be out voting.
Instead we are quoting B-list actors while choking on the piles behind the elephant.
Aching shoulders, crazy thoughts:
Last week’s pizza and half-life rots.
Well, so what am I doing about it?
I can’t be crazy if I know I’m lazy, but when I tell myself, I shout it:
I really love it all, or why do allow it?
The army of keepers, losers and weepers, a nation of sweepers follow behind the elephant, in the messes it’s making by lies and muck-raking.
But why are we taking what falls behind the elephant?
We should be out voting.
Instead we are quoting B-list actors while choking on the piles behind the elephant.
