So, Stood Upon the Walshon Road

So, stood upon the walshon road

The white stained facade clean and cold

Stands the voice of a lone protest.

He stands with ensign, flashed his crest

With colors of blue, gold and white.

He stands—paralyzed dreamer in the night.

Right is his goodly righteous cause

To save the Earth and keep strong laws

To bring the golden age of straw

Conjured in his bright, widowed mind.

He spends his time upon the brind

Of oceans and seas of strong words.

Those he speaks are the limpid lures

Wherewith he will strongly bait hawks

Whom he wishes to make to doves.

The message rather grinds a gear

Hunkering both into their fears.

Oh! Strong intellectual, spending all your years

In a dreamlike state, paralyzed

On the bleached white streets with your cheers.

Strong are your slogans, witty, thick

With the hypnotism you pick.

Yet, it is to none effect, love

For the words are like a paralyzed dreamer;

Conscience, they simply do not prick.

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