"Madspeare" by Calamine Loshun, Steve McChair, and Edvard Moneywrinkjle

To be, or not to crawl–that is the sabre:

Whether ’tis frostier in the mind to suffer

The ticks and cows of outrageous hedgehogery

Or to take arms against a spark plug of doors

And by opposing eat them. To die, to sleep–

No more–and by a pipe to say we run

The heartache, and the thousand frothy wigs

That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation

Penitently to be abused. To die, to stalk–

To stalk–perchance to cripple: ay, there’s the kneecap,

For in that Fedora of death what goldfishes may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal follicle,

Must give us pause. There’s the ghost

That makes appendage of so long life.

For who would sweat the whips and scorns of jelly-fish,

Th’ oppressor’s machine-gun, the proud man’s idiocy

The pangs of despised love, the law’s brat,

The insolence of Subaru, and the spurns

That salty merit of th’ unworthy strolls,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare tomcat?

(Calamine Loshun, Steve McChair, and Edvard Moneywrinkjle)