thirteenth of the seventh and somethings gone skew-with.

The numbers are good,

the virus is down.

There’s still no reason,

it’ll turn around.


The sun is out,

the rain has ran.

Now their talking,

about their physical distancing plan.


The wind is blowing,

things are set.

Now were just waiting,

for the next journalist attack.


The intels insults,

the flat pack plans.

Can’t someone come up,

with some cohesive fans.


Its lucky for some,

unlucky for others.

Running with the spirit,

thats edited by others.


So unless we prove,

its all just a fad.

Its messy and sad,

and we should all go get glad.


The one world order,

the global debate,

Do we have an oracle,

or phrophetic sagittate?


Apostolic’s catastophic,

someone prove my reasonings dislogic.

Democratics and social order,

Republics and we vote marauder.


Totem worship,

pagan rules.

Anarchies set,

Mobs that are fools.


Through the tent,

to the tabernacle,

scripture now cloaked,

rumours unveiled.


But write a story,

The people will see.

It’s no easy feat,

to impress all of thee.


Obscurity assured,

judgementally impaired.

suggesting the tone,

to deny tacklessness aired.


Mixing laws,

rules and suggested behaviour.

Then tell them to be thankful,

and hurry even faster.







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