The Real Thang

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      They say it can’t be done

They drum . and . drum . and . drum

It can’t be done

Life’s just no fun

Better watch out for an attack

Better get ready for the collapse

These people are dirty

These people are rude

And those over there

Are loud and lude

The economy’s busted

The supplies were all spilled

The tools are all rusted

And our cups were never filled.

The believers are hunted

Their beliefs are all shunted

The ball’s been bunted

but the boys R all blunted

.  .  . : . :   .  .  .  ???

Technology’s just a word

Lodged in your pockets

Flooding all your sockets

No longer a long and trusted sword

The press use to address

the disasters in plain sight

giving us all a reason to fight

Communication use to be a key

that unlocked the king’s chamber

And if he was naughty

Brought him down to the hanger

Bombs and powders make loud thunder

But words are more like lightening

that bounce like balls

Dribbled by gods

Thrown by mere mortals

Life’s all done!

It’s just such a big mess

The big bang left us with

So Much Less!

Now we fuss and we fuss

that we can’t be one

that God’s gotten much too thin

And we’re living in our own lonely den

People of the past

   would laugh at this cast

  of losers and weepers

And heavy, heavy sleepers

Who wake to a world

   waking up from a 1000 or more

Year spell

   that left them in the baker

And, no, not just for another laker’s

game but for

The Real Thing.