As foretold
The Shallow Man
Brings his Shadow Clan
Not big, not bold,
Just sick and old
Rotted and cold.
The Cancer Spreads
Manure teds
The truth unsaid
Real blood has bled.
Lies arise and Super-Size;
Plasticize;
Metastasize.
A pinch of greed
Proliferates at lightless speed
And all the goblins dance and feed
On carcasses of innocence,
Relishing their indolence;
Worshiping the insolence.
At last we have replaced the thorn and rose
With concrete and a snotty nose;
The half-baked plan
Of an orange man
While sicko fans salute;
Hope his power’s absolute;
Hope that they can catch a crumb,
That crumbles from the bloody chum.
Their dead shark eyes
Seek out the prey;
They hate the wise
And feign to pray.
Until the faith becomes entrenched.
And life from everyone is wrenched.
Why not destroy each living thing?
Why not deploy a million men?
Why not enjoy pretending king?
Why not?
Why not grab a child or two?
Or three or four or plenty more?
The Shallow man,
Supported by his shadow clan,
Hates the very look of life;
Hates love and beauty;
His only duty:
Clean Putrid’s booty.
The Shallow man
The Hollow man
The Shallow men
The Hollow men
Is this the way our world ends?
Not with a bang but a wimp out?
A cowardly clown
Wears an ill-painted crown
He’ll scream and stream and shout
But never ever make amends.
This Shallow man
This Hollow man
Friendless, demented
Rings himself with sicko-fans
Paints himself with fakeo-tans
Gives himself prizes that he himself invented.
While a thin wind rattles through the unpicked field
And cowards and greeds flail and yield;
Spew their lies
Which no-one can trust;
Fight against flies
For the filthy crust
Is this the way our world must end?
With a whimpering wimp at the wheel
And a creed of greed must serve as the keel?
But two humans can’t figure that out?
This is not how our world must end.
The people, ah, the people, they awake.
They find a way to keep the light.
The people wake and learn to open sight.
The people, ah, the people, they awake.
They awake.
They awake.
petersironwood 