Bow low and kiss the rings of Banana King Thong,
his pleasures are yours, his rights never wrong.
Praise the power of which he wields yearlong
as the choir gathers in the garden to sing his song.
War with him lasts too long, his forces far too strong
for the lords who preach to those who don’t belong.
Survive and bow low at the feet of Banana King Thong,
he who’s blessed with the immortal mighty dong.
No greater fear than the neighborhood witch,
a woman so vile she makes the devil twitch.
So care must be given when scratching the itch,
the girl next door who the body so rich.
Discovered you’ll be and the cry you’ll ditch,
“I know your mother” and sure she’ll snitch.
Pocket of credit for some coward’s fun,
down through the streets we wearily run.
By shadows hid the deed is done,
all who chase are all outrun.
Worry not for the loaded gun,
for that who we seek is only one.
Robot riddles it speaks to stun,
the score is made, the game is won.
Pleasure aplenty in the new day’s sun,
an automated drug dealer for everyone.
There we stood as diligent caretakers of a forgotten castle,
where the parapets protected the dimmed lights of our chambers.
Mortared stone crumbled through the night as the bombarded
garrison surrendered life and limb to the ruthless hosts of doom.
Failing through time and space the weapons of our making
turned against us as the coming dawn ran from the night.
One we sent to chase it back, the son of mourning himself.
And all sorrow wept as the lost dreams of tomorrow rode away.