We heard the songs from auld lang syne
In literature we banished our thoughts
In paperbacks we compressed the stings
That once had bitten the bourgeois folks
But we endeavour no more, we gave it up...
With thesis and synthesis
We protected our antithesis
With boredom and freedom
We created a world of wrong-
Finally reality has stolen our supremacy:
Engaged into a thousand strings
That Theseus laid in various histories:
A world of scrub, between scrub-
Social interaction for hiring to protection!
"Dash the poison'd chalice from thy
Hand" - but there's no one to recommend you
Left alone, left aside, the epigones are greeting you,
They fill the lag with your dead body...
There was a word in the beginning
Have we failed to mention which one?
The wire has cut the lines
Oedipus looks in our minds
And plays the dustbin for our thoughts
The reservoir for hysteria
So hundred sceletons fight to bay
The epigones of sad dismay
The blue flower of wildest dreams
Still I pick it up
And what's left of it?
