Busy at home
I was happy for a while
But the joke is over
Looking down
At the carefully laid out infamy
Take a scythe, take a scythe,
To the rotting core
Of man-vegetaton
Now I sigh
At the cool cool attitude to ignorance

The look in your eyes
When you gave this to me
Just put me on my guard
In this elegant chaos
I stand to one side

Shouting “ha”
Was I forced into this?
Or was it given to me?
It’s a nice idea -
As a gift
Or as something to try for a while
70 years?
It’s neither one thing or the other
My big fear
Is to dig it at last
And have it taken away

It’s not a problem of secrecy
I take it in my stride
Did I learn to breathe to be killed like this?
Faces to the glass
I see them televise my death
Oh, and here comes the part
Where I break down and cry.

People I see
Just remind me of mooing
Like a cow on the grass
And that’s not to say
That there’s anything wrong
With being a cow anyway
But people are people
With the added advantage
Of the spoken word
We’re getting on fine
But I feel more of a man
When I get with the herd.