World Agape

Whoo!

Art rap, art rap, art rap, art rap!

Whoo!

Who better qualified to mediate in the larp discord/

With my dewy moleskin brewing cauldron and karmic orb/

I'm fully pantsless like the wooly mammoth from the tar pit gorge/

Yet I'm David Carradine taking thorazine off the starship oars/

No godhead in the blog thread stringing this harpsichord/

No tasteful tunes, just tablespoons of parsnip porridge/

Of the bleeded ether from the Greenpeacer's alarmist lore/

(Chorus)

I'm dashing and windblown/

When the world's agape/

And I bookend your smiles with unhappy endings/

I'm dashing and windblown/

When the world's agape/

Drop orange rind on the war crime set in the crowded ballot/

With my in-laws and Limbaugh singing a power ballad/

Their price gouging funds their night outings and flowered phallice/

More than spider bites we give them writer's strikes and an endowed outage/

The ulcer gargle and dulcimer drone are character-driven/

Like the "no sir" art show, sulfur marble and American women/

This bonus disk shows my showmanship and parenting acumen/

(Chorus)

I'm dashing and windblown/

When the world's agape/

And I bookend your smiles with unhappy endings/

I'm dashing and windblown/

When the world's agape/

Oh what to do/

Oh what to do when the world we service is a whirling dervish/

And my sidekick aids his surly cervix he's burly and girlish/

And I'm Isaac Hayes on a gurney in Zurich saying/

"Man up puss! Right now!"/

We're telling kids/

"Oh yes, you can't"/

I'm rushed to hair and make-up on the war-torn beachfront/

Where I narrate stuff like a foreign-born creampuff/

But I forewarn the teen pups that their core's worn and pre-shrunk/

Then in poor form, I triple lutz and I land on my gristle hump/

But really/

I'm into spooning and spoonerisms/

And I make a splash like my hands are two-thirds fish fin/

Because when I talk it's like nuclear fission yet it resonates/

Like a Ferris Bueller ditch party/

Apply the oil-slick sheen of the Blue Man Group/

Eat Soylent Green by the two-hand scoop/

When you see my face at the newsstand booth/

With plutonium in his thermos/

I got Obi-Wan discharged/

With my phony gun and lip service/

I earned the large gift card/

To stir up the stern class kings and nurture the saplings/

I earn medals dirt-pedal with the facial hair of Burt Reynolds/

Burnt kettles on my turntables/

Make sheet music leak coolant/

When I speak to it/