Chorus For Doomed Youths
CHORUS FOR DOOMED YOUTHS
how fortunate are you, Child?
I couldn't abort you.
now I've given birth to you
and nothing shall
kill
your breath--- till
you tell this truth.
you have come:
to live and to love.
I name you Deft-Daft
you're like Jabez;
borne out of the sorrow
of my marooned heart.
you're my child, be also my herald.
Go ye
to that tribe of kooky tune-smiths
and tell them; tell them
how deft their sound
how daft their lyrics
how doggone their voices
how gaga their listeners
how savage their songs
how brief their existence.
tell them! tell them
tell those loony song-smiths--
whose choruses are chanted in all
wacky-wacko-psycho muster--
to chant the beauty of nature
and cover her nakedness.
tell them! tell them
how their ignoble lyrics
defile the minds of the young
and ravage the mind of the sages.
singing, dancing, capering
grinding, swinging, raving
smoking, drinking, prattling
buying, selling, fighting
feel-highing, bubbling, hurting...
dying of excessive pressure for treasure;
dying for excessive measure of pleasure.
tell them! tell them
their errant lyrics
bear bawds and brainless brawn
whose thew thaw in stew!
sing- dance- darkness- phew!
watery lyrics filled with chaff
to rouse demented youths.
their music, their fall;
their melody, their pall.
tell them! tell it to them.
then like an Abiku
die your final death.
when you are reborn
to live your final life,
I shall rename you Deft-Deft
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