Song: The Day Of The Bat Poem by Dave SmithWhite

There was unease - a foreboding,
Cast upon the wind.
The lost years - a corroding,
Of the trust that underpinned,
Our whole damned life together,
Eroding in a spin.
And now there is a reckoning;
And now it all begins.

With the augurs and the entrails,
Of past bloody acts;
When violence begets silence,
To the truth and the facts.
With the fashions of terror,
Stitched in as cool tat,
We know we have entered,
The day of the bat.

It's the day of the bat;
In the street rap vernacular.
Every day on the mat.
The fall is spectacular.

A fine mist of droplets,
That spray from our lips.
On the words of dark prophets,
Who flay us like whips.
When the scourge and the horror,
Are more than mere blips;
As the chart maps our sorrows,
We cash in our chips.

It's the day of the bat;
On the beat with Count Dracula.
It's where we are at;
And our fall is immaculate!

So they all tell me that
It's the day of the bat;
I've heard all the chat,
I've read all the stats.
A new day of combat,
With the herding of cats.
It's all in the wording:
It's the day of the bat!

It's the day of the bat.
Let the grand trumpet sound!
For the great orange rat,
Is coming to town.
It's the day of the bat:
Full circus and clown.
A song sung in scat,
And we all batten down.