The Morality of Taxes
An antiwar poem
On the menu tonight,
your choice of chef,
pork or lamb,
coffee or tea?
The kitchen door is left ajar.
Cooks callously cleaving,
repulsively raping the lamb,
burning and bleating in endless pain.
What will it be?
I've lost my stomach.
Here's the bill hon' —
you still must pay.
That bill, it increases every year. No pity for us all!
hey what are you talking about? where all free citizens.....right?