Apocalypsing Along

Apocalypsing Along

I met a man today with hair as gray as was his skin.

He stopped me with his sharks eye and cancers sickly grin.

He told me of a story that he did not begin,

He told me of a story that I was already in.

He said that he remembered when the planet was still new.

When none of the sky ever turned brown – it was the brightest blue.

But in the Province of Unsatisfied they mixed a strange new brew,

And sold it to others of like mind, “Our brand is far more true!”

Out into the world they go, poisons and promises to share,

To come to any lands that have not got their very own dead air.

To sell to any with emptiness inside that happen to live there,

And praise themselves not for what they wrought, but for the courage not to care.

“And so,” he said, “The Unsatisfied, they age the earth, their poison is their art.

They only feel most satisfied when they’ve made it fall apart.

Their talent is only just enough that it’s destruction they can chart,

They’ll never be quite good enough for creation here to start.”

“There are more of them today than ever,” he said before leaving,

“Avoid them,” said he, “Lest heart and soul feel feel the venom sting,

Their kind can scream loudly, but they won’t never sing...

“T’won’t do no good showing them their sin – their kind can’t feel a thing.”

Cliff Lake 1/13/1994

CliffSongs