All typed up in Courier-wet ink
poisoned at dawn, the two messengers
were hung with typewriters for counterweights
to keep stiff in the wind and rain on a sandstone hill
Last water! ... Last water! Beyond your first thirsts:
You cannot be a centrist in the undeclared aquifer war
Come, see Jerusalem, the Gasoline War is over
and they'll be begging for the drinks, me thinks,
from Damascus to all near-beer holes and the shores ...
For water is life for the timid and the meek,
for even satiated Kings and Queens
with red and blue bottles of perfumed wines,
for that sacred drop off the first morning vine
O sure, O, sure ... the autocrat will pour fresh
to soothe and wash their hands of this thing and that,
for the blood of their guilt of our lost daughters and sons,
but only from the sea will we ever so eternally run
