It's been a rough day,
My back is sore from polishing my gods.
Mr. Haney's back
And shit, he's not leaving till we buy it all.
Dharma is easy,
Our way is hard.
Like a Freud or a Marx,
Engaging with that popular, ever winding and confident sophistry,
You are never going to figure it out.
Now as your lifeforce fades along with your diplomas,
It's as good a time as ever to consider bypassing this school of minnows.
Maybe try using a bigger bat.
Instantness, the axe of pure sacrifice,
Insures that the choice is wondrously gone, or does it?
Upon ending your season ticket committment to the squirrel races,
Titans crumple like paper cups after a hearty swig.
Maybe this is all:
Stop tweaking your illusions....
Stopping, yet gather them in a sphere.
Suddenly you hear...
"Ladies and Gentlemen,
May I have your attention!
Bring your ball to the Magic Fair!
Delights untold await one and all there!"
What has he slurred,
Did you hear what I heard?
Can you believe it?
That putz of a nerd.
"Come one and all,
Bring with you your ball!
Quite rare, directions to the fair!
Past the all those psychics, religion, naive scientism, too,
No new-agers or goddesses may attend with their glomping-on goo.
When you see paraphenomena, still not there, up the stair,
Turn left, then go right, then up and down, too!
Take the opportunity, O friends, the show unequivicable awaits,
Man, you'll need to give it a good knock on those gates!
Lady, you won't get through that thicket,
Our turnstile will stop you without a ticket!
Those of you without your ball
You won't be to allowed an entrance at all!"
Blessings to those same old beings
Playing the pretty, soft-note kindness of the shimmering expanse.
Now joy is here, to the all-beings display, I say hurray!
(Although with these lagging ones, it's been told that they
Present the seemingness of unfamiliarity of the source of the array.)