In the land that I was born
there is a man who takes from the sun,
he takes from the moon, from the earth's womb,
he takes from the sweat on your brow
and the bread from your mouth.
He calls himself the Taxman,
the collector of duties,
he hardly builds any roads
nor bring bread to your table,
but takes from your hunger,
and your thirst,
and your pain.
He taxes the laughter of children,
he taxes the weeping of mothers,
he taxes on buried,
and the newborn laced in swaddling clothes.
What has he given in return?
Silence, iron bars,
and the rattling sound of chains
under the weight of yokes unseen
that we are all forced to wear.
And so I ask, O Tax Collector,
under what rock have you hidden the sun?
Where has the harvest of our labors gone?
What have you done for the people
that toil in open fields
and sing songs of forgotten hope?
Got to put writing aside for a bit
Need to get the bookwork done
The taxman is waiting
He wants the numbers
With dollar signs in front
He doesn't care that he's taking me away
From my love of words
He just wants me to be done
By a certain day
So he can take my money....
I usually enjoy doing bookwork
It's a task I don't find dreary
Exercising brain muscles
But my mind can't stay focussed
Stray thoughts meander
Coming between columns of figures
Addition, multiplication, subtraction
Division, percentages and totals
Have flown away to the other side of the universe
Grab the nearest piece of paper
Pen in hand and start writing frantically
...OOPS...
Back to figuring again
Where was I?
Trying to keep my brain on a leash
But like a creek in a downpour
It runs everywhere but where it's meant to
A flash of a word
That's what I was looking for!
A whole new verse scrambles through my brain
Scrawling it onto paper as quick as I can
I WILL get the bookwork done
Eventually...
His knees shake, he's feeling weak
His hands tremble and he cannot speak
He got an email early afternoon
It's tax time again - it's much too soon
His accountant queries things long past
But his filing system is not up to task
Bits of paper cover the floor
As he prints reports by the score
He can't remember, his mind won't budge
What he's declared and what he's fudged
IRD is breathing down his neck
Wanting answers now - he is a wreck!
Interest is charged, he is aghast
Late paid penalties are mounting fast
A refund due would be as nice as pie
But it's more likely pigs can fly
Complex tax rules blow his mind....
It's a bloody stressful taxing time
millionaires not to pay taxes, but give to the destitute masses
A devil in three-piece polyester
Sweaty jowls hanging over starched collar
Worker’s bane, savings account molester
Stalking your front door, try not to holler
Huntin’ for your cash; not all he will do
Piles of workers’ scalps under his front seat
Lambs to the slaughter for our Darthie-poo
Laundering funds for government elites
Business buys Washington, who buys the vote
Our tax dollars, the machine’s power source
IRS laws cut the middle class’ throat
Wall Street’s equal opportunity whores
Puts the “fun” in “fundraising” for the Man
Darthie’s knocking and he’s not here to beg
One measly pound of flesh, that’s not his plan
By law, he’s due at least one arm and leg
4/20/16
LETTER TO THE TAXMAN
We have to give too much in tax payment.
I suppose you don’t find it funny but I meant
Taxes in Texas seems like a double entendre,
Or suppose I signed myself the Nevada Evader.
Everybody’s in trouble because of tax and you.
IOWA may soon become known as IOU,
Missouri may become the OWE ME state.
When DC reaches for a statehood date
It’s nickname should be PAY ME.
Now, I know that nothing comes free
But have patience with me please:
I want to pay you, but it don’t grow on trees.
My savings box contains nix-to-the-max.
Now, maybe a sly fox could fix his return with a fax,
Or put a hex on your lox, with his bad behavior lax,
But I simply send you no money, and I want pax.
Please allow me deductions for my dress-code mix -
Though wearing a tux might vex the collector of tax,
I might be simply seem a figure of wax.
P.S. I like sex wearing six sox while playing the sax.
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