You've seen the artist at work; now you can watch him at his leisure No, there must be some mistake, I've only come here to deliver the carnival No, there's no mistake. You and the other deserters are only out for personal pleasure farewell you fiend, he gasped leaping on the turntable and his body was found 33 and 1/3 inches under the ground under the underground of the torture garden. The banana police have surrounded the monastery come out with your legs crossed they shout thru the petal splitting speakers the high appeals have found you guilty of sobriety so take off your wretched robes and hang up your silken sneakers and before they could say hare krishna they were discharged and drowned in the underground nightmare nozzles of the torture garden The night watchman jealously guards every day as a vacation he pretends not to notice the foliage that falls from the track of the greenhouse train he has a fetish for turtles who help him guard the station and had had no choice when one was swept under the barbed wire drain breaking all the rules he dug his way under the roots of the wall and was never again seen though someone heard a scream almost inhuman in the echoes of the underground of the torture garden The democratice salesmen have taken out a billboard on the strip pacifying the passing motorists not to stop for winter's whistles and three airlines have crashed, their engines gutted with bunches of tulips The Laurel Canyon forest fire apparently was caused by guided missiles every unimportant figure has recently sustained an accident and the fertilizer crew has had an epidemic of flue while working double time in the underground of the torture garden. The rebels and anarchists are publicized by Time Magazine their impossible pictures are splashed on the sand of their target's breakfast tables something must be done, why don't they call out the Marines and gurgling cologne in the bathroom they complain their stocks are unstable a concentration camp would be too much camp the candidates from both parties agree the two party system is what makes this country free broadcast live from the ballroom of the underground of the torture garden. The city rises ravaged in the Menchevik morning they rub chemicals on their skin heathens of a healthy glow oh my god, oh my god, oh my god haven't we had enough warning type the tomahawk typewriters while quoting Thoreau the candy sweet aroma exhausts the air-conditioned air and every hour on the half-hour the recorded voice repeats for Christ's sakes will you or will you not take this flower freshly grown in the ground of the underground of the torture garden.
c. 1967, this poem appeared in "The War Is Over" songbook and the cd booklet for All The News That's Fit To Sing