The Smithsonian Institute

From the Rage Online newsdesk Tuesday, August 20th, 2002  

The ancient manor once was an academy
(I’m doing my best so don’t think bad of me)
where ballet was the essence of a graceful sport
(It’s my first effort it took a great deal of thought)

But today tis bleak and darkness descends
in spite of it all we still have friends
we watch and we wince and we suffer the pain
and we collectively wish to see three points again

But in this skeletal abyss this monstrous abode
we see misery at home and disaster on the road
this is a pattern of badly cut clothes
why we play like this god only knows

This city of brains has changed the view of the world
where presidents have wept(and inhaled)as flags unfurled
but closer to home lies a giant (well large dwarf) asleep
in an old ghostly manor with only memories to keep

The wind whistles through from the hospital grounds
gathering a collection of familiar sounds
‘for fucks sake ref”have I paid to see this?’
‘somebody somewhere is taking the piss’

The Smithsonian Institute lies barely alive
this year like last year we may barely survive
Profesor Kassam has promised the earth
but nobody knows how much he is worth

In the meantime we will cling on
to the words of the wise
as we wait for each saturday before
closing our eyes

And we need to spread the message
for there’s a rumour we must kill
tell everyone out there we’re oxford united fc
and not what the telly says ‘oxford united nil’

There is a breath of hope
at Minchery Farm
a place yet to experience
the old manor’s charm

we wait and we wonder
and excitedly want what the future might bring
there’s a dream over yonder
and I swear I can hear a nightingale sing

will our future be bright will things be cool and groovy?
will we taste success will all of us smile?
if not we can go fucking bowling or watch a movie
and graciously add to Mr Kassam’s pile


This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 20th, 2002 at 12:00 am and appears under Crap Poetry. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

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