Everyday Apocalypse - Poem by Justin Lynch
The Apocalypse was now, we were obliterated then.
Well if I were a betting man, you can bet I'd hedge my bets.
Just as we discovered, a meaning to our end.
And if you are a beggar then, you had better start to beg.
'Cause when we arrive in Hell, we'll know the way around.
We'll marvel at the smell, won't flinch at any sound.
And we'll dance and swing like pendulums, rips the guts out of the clocks.
We'll use our imaginations to work our way around the locks.
The sirens have gone silent, there's fire crawling up the walls.
There are lucky fucks in fallout shelters, and unlucky ones holed up in malls.
There's sinners in the best of us, threatening to rear their heads.
So when the angels take the rest of us, we'd all be grateful to be dead.
The rivers have dried up now, but we've had our drinks anyway.
And I swear to you I'd be surprised, but I swear it's like this everyday.
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