Of nothing.
The trouble with the rubble, the bubble,
Of sweet wine, without, cheese,
Should I dance, or,
Should I freeze?
There is a gentle, breeze,
Tells me there is geese, and,
Donot falter or sneeze,
As you slaughter, them, as,
You, just, want to,
Cure your wheeze!
I have had this medicine, before,
It doesnt quite, work,
Because, there is so much, wrong,
And, not with the birds or bees,
Not with grass or trees,
Not with sahibs and ha jees,
Not with tahjeebs,
Nor frangipanees,
Nor keys,
To that heavenly land of leyvs and lees,
Of beatles, rolling stones, mick jagger,
Of the wonderous bee-gees,
But to be sure, hotel California
Is just a state of mind
Most likely to become
With those who state their mind, do you, ever,
unwind,
the protestant work ethic, dear,
permeates,
non-ethnic climes,
where do we go from here,
never fear,
the world, has, and always, shall be,
but; one system,
huff and puff,as,
you might,
the human spirit,
is meant to consturct, and,
it would, if, you would, let it;
see the brilliant sundown, the sunrise;
the whip of the breeze,
some alien smells, divine;
what is it, from whence it comes;
yet it uplifts, and i know;
my knowldge is never complete;
no matter,
what,
jeans, i wear;
or pyjamas, lungees, kurta; dhoti, or the nehru cap;
surely ideologies are not born of clothes;
it is clothes that begot ideoligies;
look at Gandhi Ji;
loin-cloth;
much as wrestlers of contemporary benaras wear,
all-saints;
and i had one of them touch my feet; why?
