Supposing what matters is the love
And not the lover:
Supposing — by chance — your virtues are
Judged by some god
And he will brush aside his beard-strings
Like Bootstrap Bill,
Pat you on your right, your shoulder,
Dust off some righteous dust,
Say, “Bro, I watched you from Heaven,
You fought for your people, you loved your woman,
You were fucked on earth, but I
Touch you immortal”,
Would you stick out your hand
And say that you understand; or would you
Stick out your tongue and say
“Like, whateva, Mr. Achilles Foot”?
I donno folks — it’s either love or the lavatory for me.
I will — most prob — stick out my tongue. I don’t want no
Piss-booth to shed my tears into. As long as my knuckles bend
I will fight for what I think is mine.
Watch me carry my weapons as I walk,
As I bear the cross like Jesus, as my life falls apart in pieces.
No folks — that Homeric epics are syllabus material.
We got a life to live here. So, do as I do