the universal communist holds no deceptive plots,
knows nothing of politics, his system unbought
a covert agent but surreptitious he's not,
infact, he's quite open using what you've got.
railroads and plazas and buildings he'll make,
out of your scraps, shoestrings and ol' skates,
even the metal bristles from broken rakes he might take,
collectivized tomatoes sweets, wheat, golden grapes,
for he carries fifty times more than just his own weight,
why can't the robust caterpillar capitlizers see that this creature is truly so great.
so alone he might seem insignificant to life,
for he spends all of his working in strife
look at his size, look at his size, look at his size,
now look at the colossal squadron behind him marching in lines;
searching, gathering, distributing, producing, communicating, locating...
cells of an organism, even more organized,
when they make one of their comrades workers and brothers
stable sustainability, they'll surely outlast the others.
and old way of life that's sure to return,
but before the ones who look down on them must burn.
the disgust directed at him is reflection of fear,
for his system is far superior yet his position unclear.
I wonder if he dreams dreams of a life of his own,
callings and aspirations beyond serving the throne,
and though they might seem like clones, distincitve as grains of sand,
caught in a destructive plot of supply of evil demand,
that is only the mirage of disproportioners thought strand,
refusing to store away their philosophical roast ham.
Too small to get shot, too big to be left unmanned,
So what you going to do when your left-overs swap hands?
the lesson of the moth taught, the fate of the cockroach planned,
but no thing is more deserving than an ode to the ant.