Good Griefs

Apart from saving asses, tinkle tingle
I wish I stopped believing in the masses
827, 502, 981, just me and you
Ninety seven times I have said Ew!
And for what they’ve made this maze?
Alleys, curves that only snakes can chase
Opulent succumb to bound’ries of this cage,
while all of the remainders ponder in their rage
Betwixt the arms and legs of those great
Cyclists lie attached the permanent draconian demand lists
Purified and amplified the empty scripts producing order
Undeniable, though false, they are set up to slice hard through the cord
Not that universal romance can arise from that, of course
There ain’t that many fears I have to spare
Feasts for feats that village idiot enjoys beyond compare
In the plain and noble form sits a paper pushing worm
Indecisive, yet he’s certain, of the dark procedure for the snakehole to insert in