We call ourselves Allswell
For all is well.
In our lives there is no war
Or drama
Or Capitalist hell.
We sing our Kumbayas
Over a supper of greens
We used to like meat
But we cannot be mean.
We dance by the fire
‘Till the night draws to an end
But we mustn’t kick up our heels
So as to offend.
We offer, by all means,
Opinions of Office elects
But please! Whatever you do!
Keep it politically correct!
Perhaps, for light entertainment,
One must a long way traipse
For as for our wealth of unemployed comedians,
They’ve taken up residence in closets,
Their mouths bound with duct tape.
So call Citizen Owen if you’d like to hear more,
But I warn you, my comrade,
Prepare for a snore.