Bugs in the carpet and bugs in the walls
A buzz in the kitchen, a chirp in the halls
Bugs in the garden, some chew up the farm
Some mere aggravation, others do harm.
Buggers with wings and six little legs
Buggers of loathing in a network of Megs
Some bugs they can sting, with hot formic acid
Some excrement sling to off-set the flaccid.
Termites they munch through wood walls and floors
Mantids they prey on nerves they can gnaw
The soul of a flea, Blake's monster portrayal
Is revealed on a screen, a verbal betrayal.
A virus online is a hazard unseen
But a bug in the system is wholly unclean
Insecticide proof and heartless it seems
A plague so aloof, corrupting our dreams.
This new hi-tech system for communication
Has gone to the dogs with contamination
For this new-world form of mental pollution
There's no way to fix- a final solution.
Bugs can't be cured, they are here to stay
Like a brute force of nature, no way to allay
Not something we want and nothing we need
Abstain from the game, to not let it breed.
(c) J.W. 2004.
Regards, Owl.
