Endless sound of shutting down your spiraling notebook factory Give back your inkwell of egos, system's leaking Spare you your attention to the endless dance recital Give to you your lesson as you're barely speaking And huddled Having won, and do you have a light? You can't know this Kiss like morphine Give to them your tired, your poor, your huddled masses Great police who guard the gates, King Richard and the Dragging Asses Who was our first president, and who will be the last? Are you yet convinced when you are sleeping in class? And huddled Through the smoke, your lover comes at last Through escaping Not having given in To one eye winking And straying from the garden through battle-scarred terrain And to the witch's son, to you, he will explain His photos, patients, synthetic sync technique He's getting warmer every word he speaks And inundated with his hair dye streaks