The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

only the good die young
the bad are left to grow old and rot
i am rotting

old people should be killed
they're in the way
they're useless

their flesh tastes bad
they're shapeless skin and bones
or layers of ugly fat

their minds are dead
their minds are waiting
for their bodies to catch up

old men are our past
the young are our future
grandmothers = carriers of wisdom

cart them off
cart them all off
they burn fast in the furnaces

the eskimo left them on the ice
the jews buried them alive
the christians yoked them

buddhists trample their necks
confucians spit on their altars
the muslims cut off their heads

believe what you want
someone cut off their heads
someone trampled them

old people have nothing to say
their ideas are like deSotos
that's a car we all used to drive

take their cars and belongings
divide them up take them apart
memories are made for crashing

look at the old man
push him down the hill
he can't think when he's falling

he can't think when he's standing
when he's standing he's falling
he's always falling when he's standing

i wake up and hope you'll kill me
i'm useless and can't think a thought
or this is the thought i think

when i'm permitted to think
when you've maybe read this far

i'll leave this line alone

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