Fire the fox
they fished all the fish from the sea poached all the birds from the sky just to furnish the mansion of some guy now we stand in the wasteland wondering what to do well i've got an idea, in fact i've got a few we should go into that mansion fish out that guy bind his hands and blindfold his eyes talkin' revolution baby little ruger rimfire tucked into my arm but unless you're a fox my friend you won't come to any harm but if you're a fox, you'd best be on your way Get off my television, and don't come back today it's not that i don't love you, not that i don't care it's just that there's an order from the sambar to the hare and it rules everywhere there is an order, an order and a plan and whether or not you like it whether you understand it'll smash you into splinters or raise you on its hand i'll quarterise the mighty, and magnify the small till everything is equal in the journal of the poet who sees it all so if you're still waiting for justice to be served the laws of space and time won't deliver your just deserts and there is no reason but there may be a rhyme for the hands that shape the future are the poets' hands, like yours and mine
