Fives and Sevens

Failing at hangman,
You had better drop the leash,
Worry about the noose.

When old cynics die,
The world is in dire need of,
A new modern man.

God was invited,
Tea parties in the backyard,
For brewed leaves and scones.

Are we all creatures,
Hopelessly attacking at,
Just repetition.

Gather your squabble,
Call on all your gods and dieties,
It is time to play.

Tied to whipping posts,
When you hear this nigger's song,
Pick bales of cotton.

Before the books close,
We owe death a debt of life,
Which has to be paid

Bored down into earth,
Planting skulls in the soil,
So we may reap brains.

Once I used to be,
I used to be a little boy,
So old in my shoes.

When the sun shines through,
There's no photosynthesis,
Only growing boxes.