Eighteenth fourth twenty twenty one.
There’s trouble brewing,
for every blueming one.
The words are changing,
loosing value bar sum.
The phrases descending,
fractionalizing and marginalizing.
Not expanding and inclusive,
like only puns can.
The one that got away,
or flew right over the nest.
Or the one trapped in a bear cage,
Or those who let the poison do the rest.
Of all the idiots,
and stupid cousins.
Who was told,
and believed their dozens.
Wasn’t it all,
full of shit.
Didn’t we plant,
and look after it.
Yet you let it die,
and disintegrate.
Its for the best,
you’d rather wait.
They’ll be another,
bigger and better.
Just wait your turn,
and don’t turn to leather.
Heaven can wait,
and hell will burn.
Why do you want,
to stand out and yawn.
Its a spoof you see,
the acting of you and me.
Why can’t you be,
simply a wonderful we.