Hello! And how are you today? Bright and breezy? Cheeky and cheerful? Chipper? Top-notch? Super-duper? Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? Full of sunshine? Rarin' to go? Full of ginger? Ready to face the day? Hunky-dory? In the swim? Peachy-keen? On the ball? Up to snuff? A-OK? Copacetic? Right on? Cooking with gas? Spiffy? Okey-dokey? First-class? All of those put together? None of the above? No matter, because, regardless, it's time for some more Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, massage the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.
Post-punk band Pretty Girls Make Graves brings us this week's feature, the rollicking "Parade" (listen to song here). Enjoy.
Electric Desk And Home
Graduate School of Law.
I see on the road
what we did was the right thing,
automatically, before the meeting.
Electric desk and home.
I see on the road.
Boeing's hectic work hours.
This modded beauty is good, right?
Destruction; easy to clean printing.
We connect diapers.
Building design and production.
Work at the blind man hospital, chasing after sales.
In City Hall, in this case, we have the following:
Grin and laugh.
Tell your brothers
my uncle says I tell him.
friends and kinship, and
WRONG; sweep the brush.
Connect the diapers, we.
And we will.
But every night,
Construction and manufacturing.