Hey immigrants, the country's full!

My dad was recently summoned to civil court to perform that irksome task of ladling rich, creamy justice into the hearty soup bowl of humanity. In short, jury duty. Having nothing better to do, I read the instructions carefully (like it says) and found this little piece of irony...
"If your ability to speak English is severely limited, you MUST apply in writing for an exemption from serving."
I would imagine if the office were high up in a building they would insist that fat people take the stairs. Deaf people will be given the instructions on audiotapes. Pirates will be given the instructions printed on crackers.
Actually, it reminds me that the U.S. is building a big wall between them and Mexico. If president Ford opened up the doors to make fun of the leader of the free world (by falling down all the time), Nixon stole the locks, Regan propped them open with guns he didn't know about, then Junior Bush was standing there when they finally fell off the hinges. It's too ridiculous to even make fun of anymore... I can't even go into how they're using illegal immigrants to build the wall (though I'd really like to, cause it's funny). Truth is, I'm done talking about things happening in the world around me (for tonight); I finally understand why Burno didn't own a TV (still don't understand the pink pants though).

I was downtown a while ago and hadn't eaten all day (which is when words come into my head) so here's something. It makes sense to me with a little jazz piano in the background.

I don't know what goes on
downtown where my legs hurt
from standing around and
I've got a feeling that I'm
missing the romance
that's supposed to make it
all worthwhile
you're a dark stain
on the pavement
And I've got a feeling you're
odd enough to appreciate it

No-my senses were wrong
well that's possible, I'm none
too sure
not misunderstood
just not understood

I used to pretend not to
feel at all
but got bored quickly
and started depressing myself
not sad and no reason to(o)
in fact I have no right
I think I
cannot be wrong
because I believe in everything
nothing is sacred

In my box, the world
is nonexistant
until I open the flaps
and the cloud-filtered
sun makes it impossible

You mirror my self-concept
with a flawless smile
walking out the door
into the waiting street
I look for a chair
and feel melodramatic