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.