We are a land full of posthumous degrees.
For those whose fate we can no longer control
Or animals not supporting industries
Who wash out a late someone drowning in coal
A gallon, a barrel, the scuttling of pleas
To seem overstretched, to redeem out of role
A yeardley once killed is beyond such amends
And measures the spillage while just among friends.
Tags: Bozo Songs, Gorilla Meek