Kings, Teachers, Rebels and Wise Folks

In our kingdom-conglomerate
There is a story so bizarre
I was dumbfound when I heard it
And I was dumbfucked when I saw;
All of us are playing a role:

Inside a grey wretched cycle
There is a black and damp burrow
In the darkness where we become
Quacks who can turn the land into
A brothel—all of us drop by.

As they chronicle the stories
The teachers tackle, tagging it
The narratives of lame people,
Saying we must read and talk about.
—Your books are my toilet papers.

The lone thing we share with the world
is our stupidity that scares;

Hear it as long as you are keen
As we are shackled in some quest
As in some Sisyphusic toil.
This is the tragedy, not inked
But which we have been crying foul.