Dear Miss Tyranny,
Agriculture isn't me
Please don't try to have me be
A farmer anymore.
Crops fail, chickens die
Off the record so would I
I could never stomach food
That's planted months before.
It takes a drive to earn a penny working any trade
I'm far to passive and to klutzy
For a decent woman beater or a meter-maid
I've gone too far, you say, well
Sure but don't imply the danger's passed
The battle flutes still play.
Southbound traffic's moving twice as fast
So shy away, shy away.
Years back, you condoned
Private jokes I could have owned
Had they simply been postponed
'Til I was around.
Now I've come to find
All my musings undermined
Crowded up and intertwined
With others less profound.
And your ideas, I should get credit for the better ones
It takes a bigger man like me
To centralize the praise, whoever was the clever one
I owe you that, at least, well
Sure but don't imply the danger's passed
The battle flutes still play.
Southbound traffic's moving twice as fast
So shy away, shy away.
(David Fernandes - drums)
Copyright 1996 Zach London
