Aesthetics, you sordid little shit
Study of beauty never fits,
A pseudo intellectual mist
That taunts me through and through.
An artistic conundrum that you pose,
Is just the Emperor’s new clothes.
I would rather have another doze,
Than languish here with you.
High brow and so far out of touch
No one really bothers much,
To understand you or as such
Give credence to your fashion.
I hate your elitist overtones
It chills me thoroughly to the bone,
Wish you were cast down and overthrown.
Death to your unholy passion.
Installation of long dead sheep
Stools on chairs you can keep,
Flagrant abuses lay at the feet
Of the critics now amassing.
How the chattering classes smile
To walk yet another blasted mile
In all the crap that you compile,
I shall never mourn your passing.