What are you carrying
In your bulging belly, Sam?
A whorehouse of babyboom
Power of hot potatoes
Of miscarriage of three trillion dollars?
Bloody thy hand is anarchy
Bloody thy name is Sam
Bloody thy holy grail
Of imperial lust
Of drooling saliva
In awe and shock
Dropping dead millions of desert lambs
Cross bones and skulls
Under the debris of burns and ruins
Climbing down the streams of Euphretis
Through the thick linings of blood and sweat
Through a deluge of sufferings of cries and whispers
Of those dying and extinguishing in flames
As ever in swearing words of thy name
To deflower your long lost sanctity
In a battle of crusade
Against your harem of ancien regime.
Over and over again the bell tolls
The bell of three trillion dollars’ democracy
In siren of crying and whispering
In cold winter clouds
The demolishing machine guns
The terminators standing atop the unaccomplished sky
In full insignia of froths and frolics
Aiming at all swearing faiths and beliefs
Big machismo drops a bluster of croaking frogs
Fat man behind them with bulging belly
Choking in orgasmic delights
Shamelessly and in vain glory
Of ever enhancing libido
In haste to cross the last frontiers
Of laissez faire banana republic
Of metaphysical fame and glory
In a behemoth of surrealistic pleasure.
What price is democracy?
What is cooking in your bulging belly?
You know, Sam, you know for sure
A rose is always a rose in our perfumed garden
But when it is deflowered at your luncheon table
It becomes a concubine in your harem
Of imperial lust
To celebrate the world in your bulging belly
With your accomplished grizzly bear
You revolve around your orbital libido
Trampling upon the petals of human hope and desire
And it pays you in democracy
In extravaganza of three trillion dollars
And your bulging belly pukes in long wows.