An ostentatious oral outburst
Offends all of my senses at once
Butchery, I observe and I recoil

Your language echoes through the streets
In a hapless mess of floral wreaths
I am discovered
With a multitude of accusation

My contemporary artist palette
Would be quite contrary
If it deigned to elevate you
To a wood-board Lucretia

And I find no beauty
In what I see here before me
But I know with objectivity
You'll be a bit of fun for me

Now burn your clothes
Recite the words
A delicate verse that your
Tongue would ill serve

You're not more than a brutish imp
And to think you actually would win
My hand with judgment fondly served
And your aloofness so deserved

These tools you taught me how to use
Come in handy driving nails in my new ward
Evans couldn't find a better board
Or ragged girl

Now bite your tongue
Sit back and watch
As choirs of starry eyes
Sing my name...

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