Thursday, September 18, 2008

The Curtain Comes Down

Went to sleep last night, I was feeling fine,
Then I dreamed it was 1929.
The radio crackled with the buzz of doom
As the fog of despair filled living rooms.

The crumbling skyscrapers, the suburbs on fire;
Toxic landscapes stinking like burning tires,
And the toothless hag croaks, “Let’s make a deal,”
To has-beens trying to scrounge their next meal.

I dreamed the proud city was become
A wilderness. The shocked and numb
Victims watch the High Priests as they peel
Off the wax that holds fast the Seventh Seal.

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