Who said we are hollow men? Our insides are crammed with many feet of guts With fillings of proteins and vitamins and vintage drinks So we have the guts to say with a shrug, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' When in neighborly love Our brother is butchered in the bazaar Causing no alarm or inconvenience to us, To our shopping in the butcher's, Unflutteringly waiting for that happy day When we shall get plenty of carcass of a kindred kind In a gravy of blood. Tomorrow It may be my turn though Till then Why not fill and invigorate the manly guts of mine?
Who said we are hollow men? Our outsides are continuous fashion shows Showing those coils of curves and contours Made pointedly prominent With well-tailored synthetic vests Venus mounding under much-used modish jeans Luring and lubricating our salivary glands. To condition a good appetite all the time We have streamlined our entire system By non-use of the useless to atrophy And culturing with aphrodisiac Our most vital autonomic things. Better than Pavlov's dogs fed only on occasions, We are hungry in season and out of season And all time is feed time and bed time to us. True, we often have diseases of this kind or that But they do respond to drugs Why don't you also start taking these drugs To bury in blissful oblivion The canker in your imaginary soul? As for us We can do without any such non-existent thing. It is nothing but your ennui Caused by lack of exercise and indigestion. To cure it be gay, have some frolic and fun. Had your so-called soul been something tangible We would certainly have advised an outright transplant.
It's you who are hollow For stuffing you imagine things ' They are mere opiates Invented by your witch doctors To induce credulity in over credulous fools. Don't be a fool, come and join us With our loving aids Your vulgar disease will pass. Get over your inhibition You will find your liberation Your much sought salvation In our lemming-like orgiastic self-immolation.
Don't say again our land is waste It is full of factories, skyscrapers and nuclear plants, A lot of noise and fumes And balls of dust like huge mushrooms Cumulatively churned up with our dreams From the bowels of the uncomplaining earth Made to yield up Much of what we honestly perhaps don't need. In what you call divine discontent We relentlessly, inexorably seek our surfeit To satisfy our endless appetite Till in a crescendo We achieve our nirvana In a bacchanalian beatitude.
So don't stand aloof like a fool And miss the bus But come and join us Your disease will pass. There is no choice either For we are breeding and spreading Like virulent vermins Insidiously everywhere Even in your blood. So better come and join us And find eternal bliss In our painless salvation of suicide. Amen!
