Amanda Palmer of the singing duo The Dresden Dolls has posted on her personal website an ode honoring the surviving Tsardaev brother, as reported by The Daily Caller.
Simply entitled “A Poem for Dzhokhar,” Palmer waxes poetically on how difficult life was and currently is for the accused terror bomber.
The Goth singer flexed her creative muscles by writing of the terrorist’s in-utero experiences, to the sexual pleasure of merely breathing, to the harshness of being incapable of deciding which Vietnamese pastry to order.
As the singer/songwriter penned [Self-censored]:
you don’t know how it felt to be in the womb but it must have been at least a little warmer than this.
you don’t know how intimately they’re recording your every move on closed-circuit cameras until you see your face reflected back at you through through the pulp.
you don’t know how to stop picking at your fingers.
you don’t know how little you’ve been paying attention until you look down at your legs again.
you don’t know how many times you can say you’re coming until they just stop believing you.
you don’t know how orgasmic the act of taking in a lungful of oxygen is until they hold your head under the water.
you don’t know how many vietnamese soft rolls to order.
you don’t know how convinced your parents were that having children would be, absolutely, without question, the correct thing to do.
you don’t know how precious your iphone battery time was until you’re hiding in the bottom of the boat.
you don’t know how to get away from your f**king parents.
you don’t know how it’s possible to feel total compassion in one moment and total disconnection in the next moment.
you don’t know how things could change so incredibly fast.
As lead singer of the D-list band The Dresden Dolls, the twosome’s music has been described as a mix of Punk and Goth, known in the music industry as “Dark Cabaret.”
Adding to the campiness of the stage act, the group heavily incorporates the over-the-top style of burlesque popular in the Wiemar German Republic during the 1920s.
