Too many pills, said the old gray mare.
I'm not what I used to be but I've still got my hair-
t's in my nose, my eyebrows, my ears,
down my back, grown thick in arrears.
Too many pills to help me metabolize;
who knows what else all those supplements fertilize?
Mega doses of milligrams, we're lab rats for tests.
Why else do kindergarteners have deep voices and breasts?
Vitamin, steroid, antibiotic
to keep us all healthy. No wonder we're sick.
Pills for breakfast, a few more for lunch,
tablets and gel caps and those that go crunch.
And I've got a hunch that a diet run riot
requires a new pill, so I run out and buy it.
The FDA says all our soil's replete
and we can't get the nutrients from food that we eat-
so, the supplement industry's the only deal.
They must be right. All my pills make a meal;
I eat them with gravy, with cream sauce and wine,
that's what I order when I go out to dine.
Pills on the menu, the special du jour,
comes with a salad, some soup and there's more.
a bottomless cup of pills by the score:
purple ones, green ones, who knows what they're for?
I don't mind that the Pill War is a losing battle-
it's just that, when I shake, rock and roll, I rattle.
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