The Top Has Been Moved

The Top Has Been Moved
W A Adams

The top has been moved to the bottom
The left is now on the right
The inside’s on the outside
And the middle is nowhere in sight.

Those things laying flat on the ground there
Are the walls that once stood all around
At least we won’t need any windows
And the doors are not to be found.

If you like they can take off you testes
And install them up on your chest
They’ll inject a few drugs,  move a few things around
And I’d rather not think of the rest.

The flag of a failed rebellion
One hundred and fifty years dead
Now frightens the fools who seem not to fear
The Bomb that hangs over their head

Peace has come to Islam
As the heads on the fence can attest
“Burning Man” is a Carney show here
But the sons of the prophet don’t jest.

It’s said that Scientists first learned to sin
In Picardy, that once was so fair
When they heeded the call of the General Staff
And taught them to poison the air.

This was counted a very dark thing
For mans first and last need is to breathe
Chivalry died in that green fog they say
And we see that it’s gone and we grieve.

For Knights and Ladies all knew their parts
They knew why the walls were there
And the windows and doors had a purpose
And were guarded and kept with care

For once the beast has got past the wall
And come thru the window or door
Then you fight for your life where you eat and sleep
And your children’s blood stains the floor.

So, put the top above and the bottom below
The windows and doors where they go
The shield to the left and the sword to the right
So the world may see and know

That if they come over your wall without leave
Your Testes, at least, you have saved
And whatever flag you hold over your head
The same can wave over their grave.

About thelastminstrel

Carpenter, very minor poet and writer, history buff, frustrated prospector, singer, guitar player [I'm still trying to convince the guitar that I'm not going to hurt it] the most eclectic reader I know, second born of four brothers, father of two sons,-------

Posted on July 18, 2015, in Rymes. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. The sons of Kipling are singing yet! Thank you, sir.


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