Tombed
I'm outright zoomed,
pretty well doomed;
soon to be tombed
I raise my gun,
I've had my fun,
am pretty much done
I'm known to goof,
to soar on high, aloof,
but sure ain't bulletproof
So I'll see you at that black hole,
the final destination for a mole
who's played out his role
Yes, I'm outright zoomed,
pretty well doomed;
soon to be tombed
The living is a peculiar bunch,
ain't got the tiniest hunch
from breakfast up to lunch
that there is absolutely no way
that they can enjoy themselves and stay
forever rich, alive and gay
They ain't got the tools they'd need;
that is a fact to heed,
the only substitute: to breed
'cause they're all zoomed
by Death, yes, doomed,
sooner than later to be tombed
You can wake up and rise,
toil and exercise,
but men are basically mice,
Ecclesiastes and Bob Dylan are wise;
most truths are really lies;
most words equal the buzzing of flies,
so try being a little nice,
yeah, try that for size,
before your certain destiny: demise
because we're all so zoomed
by Charon, yes, goddam doomed,
and you know what; soon tombed
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Read 150 times
Written on 2022-09-08 at 13:31
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