Bad Policy

You don't like poetry? Then go to hell.
I don't like you, the stupid way you rave
Without regard for truth. You want to sell
Bad policy. Who's walking on my grave?
I feel a shudder and a shiver now,
As you explain the world to imbeciles
Who still believe your senseless rants somehow.
I hear you talking, and it gives me chills.
This language wasn't made for fraud and lies,
Your tongue is foreign to the truth of things,
It's madness to go on — it's no surprise
The blackbird calls you liar when he sings.
You tell the world you don't like poetry?
That's fine. I don't like you; you don't like me.