“Give me your tired, your poor (cheap labor),
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free (cheap labor),
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I (robber baron) lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
“Give me your wretched holdout feminine girls still prim,
And in bows & dresses,
Still drinking daintily from their plastic play tea cups,
The latest pawns of our dreamed global seizure.
Send them to me, the land of the free.
I lift my dark cape beside the one-way door,
Through which I will strip them of all human identity evermore,
Turn them into fat, genderless purple haired, nostril cow-ring messengers of confusion.
And make them fall in line to beat the narcissist drum,
Submission to the destruction of their own generations to come.”