Cell Four

My Dead West Ind'ian Male is Charles Mills,

He turned the universal upside down,

There is no God, only contests of wills,

We're all condemned to live in Kingston town.


Against fate let us raise a pass'ionate cry,

Let us love it, too, like angry Nietzsche,

Let us disdain the political sty,

And life that's bureaucratic and preachy.


We fly the flag of interpretation,

What's interesting is not deducible,

We declare freedom from ev'ry nation,

We heat up philosophy's crucible.


Will you join me and be a free spirit?

The Wailers are playing--can you hear it?


Part II




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