Goethe's waxworx

We heard the songs from auld lang syne

In literature we banished our thoughts

In paperbacks we compressed the stings

That once had bitten the bourgeois folks

But we endeavour no more, we gave it up...

With thesis and synthesis

We protected our antithesis

With boredom and freedom

We created a world of wrong-

Finally reality has stolen our supremacy:

Engaged into a thousand strings

That Theseus laid in various histories:

A world of scrub, between scrub-

Social interaction for hiring to protection!

"Dash the poison'd chalice from thy

Hand" - but there's no one to recommend you

Left alone, left aside, the epigones are greeting you,

They fill the lag with your dead body...

There was a word in the beginning

Have we failed to mention which one?

The wire has cut the lines

Oedipus looks in our minds

And plays the dustbin for our thoughts

The reservoir for hysteria

So hundred sceletons fight to bay

The epigones of sad dismay

The blue flower of wildest dreams

Still I pick it up

And what's left of it?