Our ears are quite familiar with
The ancient sound of recent drums
Speaking a language alien to us
Which somehow bears our distinct genes.
Oh! The sanity of madness
To be called the happiest people on Earth
To see dismay and despair etched on every face.
To be pointed out as richest among our brothers
To not know the meaning of “three square meals”.
To own great and mighty reserves of rock oil
To beg those not its owners to sell it to us.
To have colossal wealth at our fingertips
To find reptiles consume it in examination offices.
To hustle and rustle and bustle for cash
To be tagged indolent by our irreprehensible leaders.
And the drums keep beating in our ears
Speaking of things which make no sense to us
Which we truly, unmistakeably, understand.
Here in the incomprehensible rhythm
I clearly see the meaning of things
That ever have, and will forever escape me.
And those who know the language of the drums
Have sadly forgotten how to dance
While those who gyrate expertly to the pounding
Cannot remember what the drums say.
And so we laugh as hard and as long as we can
Because we are not in the least bit amused
As we try in vain to remember the tune
Of a song which we have all begun to sing.
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