Ennui

The Existential Index Fund

I need me a machine
What can ‘splain something to me
Or maybe a metaphor that’s easy to see
I need a code for complaining
A maze in the mind
That might roast up a rhythm
Some fantasy to find

If I were a pump
I’d be some pneumatic soul
Filled with four fiery humors
And bright glowing coal

Plunder and profit this colony to keep
An outpost of progress put those
Secrets to sleep

We are stewards and schemers
Links in a cog
Bellboys and bad barbers
Training the dog

We think we know best
These gifts grow and give
The ones we re-sell
The ones we live.

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