mardi 6 juillet 2010


By Tikum Mbah Azonga

Where on earth are the yellow filaments?

I mean the dyed ones of old

I don’t mean the Yellow Submarine

No, that’s a thing of the past

Today there’s no more pop sound gas

And no more pent up mayhem men

Pining for the beauty queens they jilted.

If you’ve lost them, remember the commandments

Don’t forget the few who returned to the fold

The only regret is that they did so with no tambourines.

The filaments are the only memory from the past

So, like it or lump it, expect leaded gas.

If you weren’t a cuckolded hen

Why would you think my yellow filaments should be smelted

As if they ere some more Garoua Boulai iron ore?

Copyright 2010

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