Don’t speak of the moon, it’s overused,
Don’t say the word "love", it’s too much abused,
Don’t sing of the flowers, there’s too much of it,
Don’t mention your "soul", you’re full of shit.

Don’t speak of yourself, you’re selfish and vain,
Don’t write of your tears, you feel no pain,
Don’t mention the big, you don’t know the small,
Don’t mention the small, it’s boring to all.

Don’t speak of philosophy, you don’t know much,
Don’t get sentimental, they wouldn’t be touched,
Don’t get very personal, they won’t understand,
Don’t get too political, you don’t know your stand.

Don’t use any rhyme, it’s too forced and too trite,
Don’t use the word "black" if your color is white,
Don’t mention the working class, you don’t really work,
Don’t try to be different, you have no quirks.

Don’t speak of morality, it doesn’t exist,
Don’t speak of religion, they’re capitalists,
Don’t mention society, they won’t listen to you,
Don’t mention your parents, most people had two.

Go ahead, be yourself, write some good-sounding shit
With a self-addressed envelope--they’ll publish it.
But if you ask me, my friend, what I think,
I’d tell you: "I’ll read it but I’ll need a few drinks."
 

                                          June 26, 1989
                                       --Alexander Shaumyan