Song of the Well-Adjusted
By Robert Anton Wilson
We are ten thousand normal men
our ids are well-disposed, sir;
Our genders are so definite
they'll never be transposed, sir.
We swallow all our fear and hate
and never dream of flight, sir;
We do what's expected and think what's expected
and sleep well in our beds at night, sir.
Our heads are free from shock and storm
in our little ostrich holes, sir;
And we fit so snug in the TV womb
we hardly miss our souls, sir.
Source. Arlen Riley Wilson poem at link. Thanks again, Martin Wagner!