On May Day

Oh, what is labor without a mind?
Even ditches need where? how deep? assigned.
A lump of muscle without control
Will never reach an unknown goal.
Workers of the world, unite?
Let thinkers strike and they’ll have night.
The man who dreams and plans, directs his thought,
Is source of each good end that’s ever wrought,
Is source indeed of everything well done;
Without it, labor has not one thing won.
Marx was a fraud, an imposter, he,
Who mislead men to failed economy.
He valued not the men of reason true
Who find the way to make a thing brand new.

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