poem from an old typewriter, with translation

jtrew kirw o;pt vey u ynn ge u gtp liujtre bytrew t i juntr eqwq hytewqo ytr dseiu gtre poy e h r njhytrews poljuytred wsoyr4cdsaq ik t poiltrewq cfpiuytr gyh kiuy ,iu7gbfewr p ku wqb miyte iy oitreqbu ly te i threw a potato on the part of the omelette that needed help you younguns need to get a grip the future will be held hostage by truth the junta will hide the jewels among the elephants your true desires have long necks every hollow representation bestrews the news pollination - that's the word why, so your four cadets have deserted the good cause there's that word again - very chewable get your kinesis here - not there i understand there will be seven fewer for dinner please correlate your walpurgisnachts mightly likely i thought i heard the overpass call my name