The Unwashed
THE UNWASHED
We unwashed walk the aisles
looking for the latest styles.
Gentle souls are we all.
You can tell it in our smiles.
Another day we've made it through,
still there is a lot to do.
Among the throng are the ones
who have something more to say.
A righteous word,
a holy phrase,
to let their view be known.
But don't catch fire, that would be rude
for they would have to piss on you.
Harsh words for such a crowd
so much like you and I.
We among the angry horde
who look down from on high.
With choice words in learned tones
we make our way through the aisles.
What is all this we call humanity?
The scourge of earth?
The highest souls?
We, in all our poignant words,
are the unwashed masses,
walking through the mass of men
in total desperation.
Each holding his own stone
that in the end we must set down
for all our names
have been written in the sand.
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