Philosophy in the Boredroom

If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly, Sirs, rest assured I’ve a Master’s in none. How Shame—unnamed, un-thought—spun corruptly, Interrupts the fight against Gravity. I’m a Kod(i)ak who eats men, so run If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly. ’Shoot-you-down clearer-than-crystal, sharply; Perception’s partly how I hotly stun— “No Shame”—inflamed, unsought—swung corruptly, Philosoph(lies) shade-marked Raging Ugly™. People used and things loved will revolt, sons, If you fear I’m Jackin’ your trade roughly. What Age amplifies, Youth dims wordlessly; Oppression will be stripped of its -isms Now ’Fame—un-blamed, un-bought—won corruptly, Has me to free its victims unjustly Imprisoned by…