You know what's going to be awesome about the coming Revolution? When I'm lined up against the wall with the rest of the petit-bourgeois scum facing a firing squad of True Marxist Poets, I will finally come to regret my sarcastic dismissal of their facile abstractions and self-congratulatory circle jerkery. As I stand there facing those steely eyed Poets (no blindfold, thank you), I shall cry out my penitence:
"I apologize for thinking you were using linguistic abstractions to debate other abstractions! I thought you were just juggling 19th century libraries as cheap pseudo-academic sideshow! Oh boy, you sure showed me! In my FACE!"
You may then fire at will. It is only what I deserve.
But as you hoist my corpse onto the Poet's Meatpile, I ask that you read aloud this humble lyric as my eulogy:
Until That Bless'd Day...