Bounce and Scratch

lift up the arm and let the needle

set itself into the groove because

the pen holder is trying to be poetic

yet again and failing miserably as

is par for the course

a blonde jackhole was elected

by the faithful three hundred and four

out of five hundred and thirty-eight while

the legacy of corruption was wanted by the

masses of reckless rabble

and the electorate keeps forgetting that there

was a raging pothead with a serious deficiency

about world geography on the ballot

but it's always the same goddamn set of events

it's always the goddamn urban islands of blue

dictating themselves toward and in constant

conflict with those in the landed ocean of red

or really the situation is the other side of 

Harvey's Dent favorite inanimate plaything

and the winner always take all...

and like Peter Frampton screamed just before

the mullahs went all militant in Tehran, 

"I CAN'T STAND IT NO MORE!"

But I'm one agent wielding a pen

and I'm not the one burning up the

pop charts like the ax man did during

the bicentennial

being alive ain't the same as coming alive

and it's not showing the way to the place

where I can say, with honesty, that there's

nothing left to say...

and that may explain, rather precisely,

why Donald Glover herked and jerked

and AK47'ed his way to the apex of the

top 100

there will never be nothing left to say

because people are still suffering abuse

at the hand of others

and the minority commentators are

blatantly rejecting the claims of the

majority rabble that they themselves

believe in the face value claim of the

statement "all men are created equal"

all men that is...

men that are gentrified, classed and pale

and they are supported by the class of men

that are less gentrified and less classed and

let's call in Procul Harem while we're at it

to sing us their biggest hit...

"Turned A Whiter Shade of Pale!"

maybe the pale horse and just the pale horse

needs to be set free and allowed to release its 

viral, bacterial and fungal vitriol upon the species

and then,

maybe then,

they'll be nothing left to say

and the needle pops out of the groove

and scratches the recording

and is left turning

and the arm is left bouncing

until the power source turns off forever

bounce and screatch ad nauseam

Author's Note

Some of the lyrics made it into the piece like the song title and some of the chorus, otherwise the rest of the piece is mine. And I included some Procul Harem for good measure.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YEVzEd2sfo