
Lyrics
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Power begets power, and power begets pain
Now let me explain!
The pain of the elite, to which the elite can lay claim
Is not the pain of the queer who is flagged as a Dalit
For both the Dalit and the queer
Are incurably insane
So flog the Dalit with a sickle
And watch the membranes in his brain
Coalesce into a curd, and set the membranes aflame
But his pain, all the same, is not the pain of the elite
Is not thе pain of the Brahman
Nor of the splendid blond bеast
Us sane folk would know, for we begot it in them
Or have we forgot it again?
That which we dare to condemn
So that the sickle of the Dalit is but “a look of contempt”
“A look of contempt”; he’s off to Baden-Baden again
Did I mention he is just a little insane?
Power begets power, and with power disdain
But let me explain!
Power begets everything that keeps us sane folk insane
And for this we are grateful, “us sane folk,” you know
Us sane folk who giggle at the powerful’s pain
For pain begets pleasure, and pleasure begets pride
And pride begets the sort of thing that keeps
Us sane folk alive
Recrudescence, on the other hand, is another story altogether
A story of power begetting power begetting power begetting shame
Shame is the new black, and black the new schwa
The schwa in between the queer and the tame
So when we’re flogging the queer
We’re not bestowing it blame
We’re not casting it aside!
We’re simply withholding acclaim!
Until the schwa meets the ash
And despoils the harangue
Did I mention that this is all just a game?
“Power begets power,” and with power the same
Two elephant poles, pulling the tug-of-war rope
Flogging the floggers till floggers are flogged a new name
“Their new name is Momo!” the Dalit exclaims
And with one look of contempt
Eats mahi-mahi again
Bastards, the queer and the Dalit and all those who feast
On the brain membrane curds of the splendid blond beast
Of which I speak, I might add, is the sole reason (yes?)
Is the sole reason why all sane folk deceased
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