The lights go dark, the curtains peel, The clowns possessed by a new zeal Are up on stage. Determined, eager to offend, To trample norms and to transcend The status quo. For them the holy fool must be A shepherd to the bourgeoisie Who sets the pace. He breaks taboos and says aloud Those pesky thoughts we try to crowd From day to day. But come now, let’s not put on airs You will not settle our affairs With quips and jokes; As from the stage you know quite well What things you’re not allowed to tell, And what we want. Which creed your public came to hear, At whom and what they wish to sneer, What faults to spot. As funhouse mirrors have to be A face like mine, but not quite me, For it to work. And all offenses must allow To leave one's self alone somehow, Untouchable. So don't be fooled; through laughs and smiles As we drive home the many miles We feel ourselves To still be very much the same. For you in that should be no shame. For after all The prophet’s gift is a millstone; Isaiah crying all alone In some dark wood. His stand-up likely be a flop, Dismissed as social justice slop By folks like you. So drop the act, let’s clear the air And come and laugh at our despair. Collectively We know the world to be a dud— Ourselves a race before the flood, Extinguished soon. The end is nigh, all clowns can do Is scream unhelpfully at you; And thus to bid it all adieu In style.
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To the Comedian
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The lights go dark, the curtains peel, The clowns possessed by a new zeal Are up on stage. Determined, eager to offend, To trample norms and to transcend The status quo. For them the holy fool must be A shepherd to the bourgeoisie Who sets the pace. He breaks taboos and says aloud Those pesky thoughts we try to crowd From day to day. But come now, let’s not put on airs You will not settle our affairs With quips and jokes; As from the stage you know quite well What things you’re not allowed to tell, And what we want. Which creed your public came to hear, At whom and what they wish to sneer, What faults to spot. As funhouse mirrors have to be A face like mine, but not quite me, For it to work. And all offenses must allow To leave one's self alone somehow, Untouchable. So don't be fooled; through laughs and smiles As we drive home the many miles We feel ourselves To still be very much the same. For you in that should be no shame. For after all The prophet’s gift is a millstone; Isaiah crying all alone In some dark wood. His stand-up likely be a flop, Dismissed as social justice slop By folks like you. So drop the act, let’s clear the air And come and laugh at our despair. Collectively We know the world to be a dud— Ourselves a race before the flood, Extinguished soon. The end is nigh, all clowns can do Is scream unhelpfully at you; And thus to bid it all adieu In style.