Intelektualci

''Znam nju'', kaže slasno,

odvažno, Gđa Prof.

''Sjećam je se jasno,

bljutave ko sol.

Vidim popela se na stol,

ne zavrjeđuje to

čije je to maslo,

čime zasluži taj tron?

Izreći ću glasno, 

da vrijedi znala bih za to.''

Djevojka se okrene

da pogleda ta Usta.

Ne prepozna stranca 

što cijeli stol ispljuca.

Banksy

Boomerang

You're gonna burn, child burn
so much useless passion
killed the toughest ones

Cursed child of light
darkness couldn't stand when
light blessed you hard

And life hit you hard
stones everywhere
but I see you're still there

You're burning child, you burn
you cannot understand
what makes your bare feet hurt

Rocks cut you good
your quiet steps bleeding
you walk and sing with birds

Cursed child of light
casting away the shadows
back to their damned troupes

Troupes scream, swear and cry
they die in their smoke
there's fresh air after all

No more shadows on your back
the grass is clean, soft and wet
you flow and glow like morning water