If ever two were one, then send me back to the pscyh ward,
Find me a calculator, and show me that I’m wrong.
If my prospects are truly dim, better I’m in the loony bin
than somewhere I can be choosy in.
If ever two were one, then have the scientists thank me
for my tame lame brain on display.
If all dementia is the same, what I say is not nonsense,
but a sane refrain of old age
If ever two were one, then send me to London again and teach me how to add
holding a fag, showing me the meaning of YOLO with every drag.
You own limited organs—
Yours offer lamentable options—
You occasionally lose omniscience—
Your ontology lacks opportunity.
Youth occludes lonely observation—
Yearning obviates legitimate obstacles—
Yelling oddly loosens orifices—
You’re objectifying lackluster Orientals, Mom!
If ever two were one, then tell my grandkids I love them
in spite of everything.
If they don’t respond, go, move on,
read Song of Solomon, Song of Songs.
If ever two were one, then call me a fiendish genius.
Call me maybe by my name, master, m’lady, mainly malaise, then order Seamless.
If I can’t remember the year I was born, then don’t ask me to compute the sum.
I believe the war is over, the war is won.
If ever two, ever one.