The Antichrist Is On His Way Poem by Matt Flumerfelt

The Antichrist is on his way,
so pious crones assert with furtive joy.
The paparazzi got the dope
straight from the Pope.
John Paul saw a bat again
flitting through the Vatican
and said, “Aw hell, not that again! ”

Some psychic nun
has seen a vision,
a lucky omen:
this time Christ will be a woman!

Fueling all this speculation
is Ken Starr’s investigation.
Thanks to Bill and Monica,
Wall Street could collapse by Hanukah,
triggering worldwide depression,
while those who play the game cash in.

This poverty and hunger
will allow some power-monger,
some ruthless demagogue
to set the foolish world agog.

While the rabble babble on
from Babylon to Avalon,
he’ll organize his war machine,
the hero of the common man.

By enacting legislation
he’ll complete our degradation,
crushing freedom by degrees.
Poets will be public enemies.

Crowds of Jesus lookalikes
sporting beards and Birkenstocks
will be spouting Bible verses
while old ladies clutch their purses.

The year 2000 is upon us.
All you kooks with names like Mabus
had better know your Nostradamus,
read Karl Marx and watch for comets.

If the devil spawn takes over,
all I ask is one small favor:
if I’m not around, politely
tell the Antichrist to bite me!