Trying to cross our tongues (nothing to do with kisses);
Mine irritates your guts, yours entirely misses,
For your tongue is melodic, full of bizarre pronouns,
Tonal, monosyllabic, difficult to pronounce.
Mine is strict and straightforward, mathematical, even -
Syllogisms and causality, total derives from given,
"Cool" is an understatement - more like zero Kelvin,
Not prescribed for your ears, elongated and elven.
Trying to cross our tongues; it's hopeless, but amusing.
No way to equate my formulae and your music,
Linking minus and plus to launch a current of power,
Shooting arrows at God from the height of this tower.
Our phallic contraption, then, is bound to crumble.
Dodging lethal debris, gaining nothing but trouble,
Wasted, lost in translation, will we at last be able
To quit this linguistic game, this frantic Scrabble of Babel?