I didn’t think it would end like this;
A litany of misfortune,
To the tune of howls and rambling,
Beneath masks, gear, and billion dollar cowls.
With the defeat of hope every year,
A flimsy foundation of a million dowels.
All is eating itself like an ouroboros,
In the name of margins, cuts, and gross,
Putting to shame moments already fleeting,
Excusing a “found” nation as an empire,
Setting their own minds on fire.
We’re no better; a land of pints and betting,
With a hand on the little and few who aspire,
For better for many, everyone, all kinds.
But after the spittle spat in the digital pew,
After the fetter of tends rust and break,
We will and we must admit out world is fake,
Take it for granted, though, it will end.
But know, friend, we can start again soon,
If we let it end, in a litany of misfortune.