The fleeting banana of prejudice--
How tasty is its stranglehold on us!
O bid adieu to the Four Winds:
Take hold of the waxing moon of temptation!
For we are all dancing on the head of a pin
And eating candlesticks for breakfast
So do not tell me what to do with my brochures
What we give up our spirit thus endures.
What ruinous command sounds o'er the hills?
And wherefore have I lost and never found
The dreaded eyebrow of mellifluous sound
That waits in quiet hibernation at the bay
Forsooth! It is thy very own assaults
Which resound through the naked walls and vaults
Forgive that which is unforgivable and try
To wear the shifting sock of nonconformity.
I am a grain of sand upon the land
Take me in your hand and issue your command
If I should take a stand, then you and I
Shall eat from crystal bowls in crimson skies.
Let us join canes and dance and prance within
The forsaken wasteland kingdoms of our sin
Where our lead-weighted feet should strike the ground
Let thereat bloom a skeletal tree, with wire bound
A silent sinister sentinel of sorrow
Withholds the perfumed message from tomorrow
Should he reveal that final note of fate
Then to him this, my ended tale, relate.
--->Arne Gustaf Swanberg