Soapboxer Rebellion

In the clearing a soapboxer drowns in a tidal wave of conviction and faith He's disguised as insidious behind a rank pantomime of love and affection The man on the corner just looks on abandoned in statuesque form He leans on his broom refusing to sweep All alone, saying nothing at all, soapboxer says it all, before he falls "Won't you help me please? I'm all alone here, above you Won't you get down on your knees and listen to me speak my peace" And the sweeper's wife drunk on the torpor, she's the dux of our cultural debutantes A pillaged despair left there to suffer such cruel, procreational doldrums Is today the day she comes alive armed to the teeth with the tools of social inflection Will he yearn, will he burn, will he turn in the same direction, I don't think so "Won't you help me please? Watch me atone here, above you Won't you get down on your knees and listen to me seek my peace"