The inevitable son liked to paint, but his
pointings were rejected by Vienna so he
changed his Ort. He really suffered for it so he
packed his begs and Luft for Munich, where he

enlosted in the army. They would be his
fester parents, but what he didn't know was that they
sold young buys' souls for
puppettes of war & burettes of blood.
& when Mister Master cut the strongs,
his weak joints brake & he stopped abruptly.

The Marionutte Meister offered him
a promotion & he cried "no thinks" but the
tears could not change the Fiend's Mond. & so he
became a fagurehead of this dirty cause. They
unjected him with criminal tendencies & so

the inevitable sun evaporated a few million Jaws, or so he thought,
while his Kabuki counterparts silently riped the Orient.
& the world was dead drunk on the gins of war & the fields
were full of poppies, their pistols emptying plant eggs into the sky.

In the nowspapers today that toy warlard is dead, but his
inhabitor has moved on to others in other arts. Of course
what he did was wrung, & we must all pay, because

Krieg was menifested in a
Coca-Cola Collectors' Item Battle
on that day the inevitable sin was born.

- negligible fictional farce. 16/7/2006
Ort – German for place, position. Luft – German for air. Meister – German for master. Mond – German for moon. Krieg – German for war.

a/n: Spitting is against the law; spotting is not. How many can you fund?
Also: The vowel of war cannot be changed, just like its consequences. In this poem war games takes on new meaning, but. Spare a thought, spare a civilian, if you please. Villain may sound like a part of civilian but your ears are not to be trusted.