There’s an overhead shot of a man underneath a building that fell from the sky
There’s an underground rumor of revolution by a group they call May Lie
In shades of grey a color comment fails to reach its goal
As sporting types perform the wave tsunami style, so droll
It all adds up to nothing more or less than total mess
Where it stops and starts in bunny hops remains a guess
We whittle down a log of hourly death reports for fun
Writing down our many names until the list is done
Iambic September graduates to October’s chilling ghosts
Haunted by ourselves we scream and run between the posts
Modern life is endless chaos riding high in spades
As shades of ancient curses bring us closer to the blades
Sheep and cattle
Death’s dry rattle
Flies and rats
Infected tats of fate
/// /// ///
