Cubic world

In a cubic city the cubes all lived,
In cubic blocks, blunt, simple, primitive.
Each house had six floors, all just the same,
No streets were straighter, no lines more tame.
Windows were squares, the door was a square,
Judgments were rigid, each thought a snare.
Thick-headed angles lack edges that bite,
Such is the life of obedient types.

Chorus
Cubic city, cubic world,
From every wall an idol is hurled.
Now cubes are dancing, now cubes sleep tight,
Now cubes chant slogans day and night.

Bridge
And only at night, in the deafened hush,
Rounded shadows along walls rush.
Come to me, dream, be softer, round,
Where I love a sphere profound.
I’ll love my rounded friend with fire,
And square the circle I desire.
We’ll multiply by division made plain,
And quarter ourselves with genuine gain.

Chorus
Cubic city, cubic world,
From every wall an idol is hurled.
Now cubes are dancing, now cubes sleep tight,
Now cubes chant slogans day and night.

3.
In museums, paintings of nothing but cubes,
They carry square brows in their little tubes.
All black on a background painfully bare,
Each face like a brick, a dead, vacant stare.
Car wheels knock square on the asphalt black,
Wet, square pavement pounding back.
Boxy drivers grumble aloud,
Shouting filthy, elite cubic shroud.