by The Cell Wall
The cell membrane hasn't a clue.
It's protection is all brand new.
They need a different angle of view,
If they ever want anyone to come through.
Semi-permeable, but that's a ruse.
All they do is overuse,
Their racist tattoos,
And overdone views.
Only a choice few are allowed,
Through the picky mushroom cloud.
While they all stand proud,
We are left to be unplowed.
Your selective walls let in,
An obnoxious din.
We are sure to be worn thin,
And left to ponder what has been.