Who Oiled the Oinkers?
The years they stampede like a gang of greased pigs
across the backyards of front yards unfenced.
You’d enjoy a few more days with your friends eating figs
but the years they stampede like a gang of greased pigs.
No time to say: “Thank you for all those sweet gigs.”
What you’re for—that will save you; not what you’re against.
The years they stampede like a gang of greased pigs
across the backyards of front yards unfenced.
