Granny Soviet Chic

"And me,a molestation to the earth", says Eugéne, accented with self-pity; likea thousand lamentscould savethe world, as if a commune outweighed a city. Bald and fat, and don't talk about the men who feud over music they didn't write - I grew tired of back-seat Communists at six, the marajuana ends glowed white then red, the only vestige of passion - leftvanquishedandcontent to sit and play guitars and class struggle; content to whine Over Thatcher, and wars solved yesterday; I sit to hear you, criers of waning light, Where once you were torches, I listened rapt but Revolution is not a guitar, and chicanery, never quite as apt.