Café Philos: an internet café

Nine of the twelve things you hear about life
Were designed to sell you something,
And the last three are contested
By armies with cannon.

Your side lost before you were born
And the refugees are sick, sometimes huddled,
Trying not to recall how Beethoven’s joy
Became an antacid commercial:
Some in shock denied it even happened.

They sell cola in the schools here.
And those adults who hold your hand
With too firm a grasp least you stray
Walk you through the Bible and Thomas Paine
For the money it brings.

You yourself walk among whores so cutting stupid
They smirk at you how they came out on top
Getting money for selling you their diseases.

We’re in a new Dark Age, Babe,
And Rome’s a rumor:
No one shall build tall things
For a thousand years.