Hello! Friday, Friday, Friday! Woo-hoo! *fist pump* Let's jump right in to this week's installment of Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, convolute the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.
This week's feature, chosen at random, is indie folkie Ray LaMontagne's "Trouble" (watch video and read lyrics [click SHOW MORE] here). Enjoy.
The Conscience Of The Pie
Management, management, management, management.
This effort may become a problem while it still escapes me,
instead of fear, concern and anxiety.
But many, privately not in the room, should be struck off.
He does not operate;
not to come.
I will go, and we have to recover all time to find your feet.
It was; he and I said no.
Sometimes the oath, but he and his friends, I have a wall.
Not the way to save,
yet he will not make it.
Woe is me; very good.
This, I love thee.
The following is the conscience of the pie, then;
the suit for me.