i’ve been dead inside for a long time
yet my bouffant has never been finer
it’s full of flowers & busy bees
& i’ll bet i’ve even heard some chirps

you dumbasses with those rictus grins
as tho’ the world’s not abloom with fire
my hair bees, at least, produce me honey
& a fried egg graces my morning plate

but why fuss over hair
when heads will roll
the reverse may be true
or not at all

so while you stew in your tomfool juices
i’ll scarper moonside in a space jalopy
& knit myself another big bang
to wear according my own rules

when earth has become a memory
& all knowledge of you has faded
i’ll embrace my awesome new world
a universe made with my heady fleece

but why fuss over hair
when heads will roll
the reverse may be true
or not at all