Bono, where's me mullet

Bono, my shades are crooked

Bono, no man's a puppet

In the streets that have no pain

[Aside: I already left a comment about this on one the irish times blogs. Really, I don’t know what the big deal is as a good chunk of this ‘poem’ first appeared on the track “Elvis Ate America” from the 1995 album released by “Passengers” (i.e. U2 + Brian Eno).]

A Bono Haiku

preaches charity
yet saves millions in tax
hiding in Holland

or No Second Bono (with apologies to Mr. Yeats)

Why should I blame him that he fills my days
With misery, or that he would of late
Preach to ignorant men about Coldplay,
Or hurl the Streets of Baltimore upon the great unwashed.
Had they but songs equal to Desire?
What could have made him think I wouldn't mind
That his songwriting made simple as a fire,
With keys played like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being weak and simplistic and most sloppy?
Why, what could he have done, being what he is?
Was there no other Bono for him to copy?

there once was a small irish man
who ensured that the world was his fan
so he waved a white flag
payed no tax on his swag
but he still needs permission to plan