DieterM
01-09-2014, 10:55 AM
In my perfect world, I will be King,
And you, you will be Queen.
The sons and daughters of America,
Of Asia, Europe, Africa
Will worship us and bow their heads,
Will kneel before our statues,
Lifting hands in prayer to our
Ever present, ever present effigies.
Incense, candles, and false prophecies
Will burn in steel-cathedrals,
And their flames will shine,
Bonfires of befuddled joy,
From temples made of red bricks
Where organs play rancid tunes
To praise our Second Coming.
And they will mould metal women
From copper and gold, women
With dead laser-beam stares,
Their heads crowned by
Electric halos.
Automobiles will be flying
Criss-cross, through darkened skies.
Weary fumes will spread their dirty wings,
Will spread their soot-stained sheets
Between our palaces of glass and concrete.
Opaque windows will dimly gleam
On street-vales where crowds are moving,
Ant-like, from we don't know where
To we don't know where else,
And we don’t give a regal damn.
And people will cheer as we pass by
In our poppy-coloured carriage drawn by
Six white stallions, and the whole world
Will be like brothers, big or small,
And their screams of joy will
Pierce, but barely so, the symphony
Of this new life we'll have invented,
A life so new, so brave. And they
Will eat bread, or potatoes, or cake,
Drink Water or champagne, and listen
To the sound of noise, the noise
Of our uncaring gaze.
And you, you will be Queen.
The sons and daughters of America,
Of Asia, Europe, Africa
Will worship us and bow their heads,
Will kneel before our statues,
Lifting hands in prayer to our
Ever present, ever present effigies.
Incense, candles, and false prophecies
Will burn in steel-cathedrals,
And their flames will shine,
Bonfires of befuddled joy,
From temples made of red bricks
Where organs play rancid tunes
To praise our Second Coming.
And they will mould metal women
From copper and gold, women
With dead laser-beam stares,
Their heads crowned by
Electric halos.
Automobiles will be flying
Criss-cross, through darkened skies.
Weary fumes will spread their dirty wings,
Will spread their soot-stained sheets
Between our palaces of glass and concrete.
Opaque windows will dimly gleam
On street-vales where crowds are moving,
Ant-like, from we don't know where
To we don't know where else,
And we don’t give a regal damn.
And people will cheer as we pass by
In our poppy-coloured carriage drawn by
Six white stallions, and the whole world
Will be like brothers, big or small,
And their screams of joy will
Pierce, but barely so, the symphony
Of this new life we'll have invented,
A life so new, so brave. And they
Will eat bread, or potatoes, or cake,
Drink Water or champagne, and listen
To the sound of noise, the noise
Of our uncaring gaze.