When the credits finally
Roll for this, the
Worst story ever
Told, don't bother
Sifting through the names
For yours or anyone you know
Unless they were by chance a shepherd king
A virgin birth, a resurrection, a messianic prince or some such childish thing
You can storm the edit suite
Or move to block its theatrical release
But I think we can safely guarantee
There will be no revisions to the script made on behalf of a supporting caste
Because history exalts only the pornography of force
That of murderers and psychopaths
The rest of us, of course, stricken from the narrative wholesale
A backdrop to their tale
As we, the two bits
Are ushered on and swiftly off the stage with
Jawbones of asses
No stirring curtain call for the masses
No floral bouquet
No breaking of legs
No recurring role
No artistic control
And so in these days, in this terminal phase
It's all left to chance
A piece of advice, if you're cast on thin ice
You may as well dance
Do what you feel you must
But as for me, I was not
Put upon this earth
To subjugate or serve
