Carry your carts like crutches through the store
And buy your bread at the pastry section
And buy your wine—find them two down, aisle four.
To save the earth and have a little fun
Just buy the stuff. What good is truth without
Imparting some well-being on conscience?
There is no way to hide the bloody grout
In aisle one-hundred one, but perfect sense
It makes to sell the peace those weapons bring.
So sing, your soul will rest in these white aisles.
So tell your friends about this wondrous thing,
Just, please don’t tell them of the bloody tiles!