apocalypso
Take down the time and place
Everything else erase
Given plenty of space
This thing will come
Soon.
Jot down in your datebook
All night we will be shook
Until the neighbors look
In through the window.
Spiritus mundi
This is the time when the emus will fly when the
Lava will throw itself up through the lavatory
Scorching the Charmin and driving us all
Out of the frying pan into a featherbed
Frolic of frantically finale fucking
Away from the spewing, renewing, undoing
To undo and spew and renew.
Anyway, once again,
Put down the rolling pin
How can it be a sin
If it's the end of time?
Read it in Weekly World
As the fifth page unfurled
I saw the lord's tongue curl
Around the North Pole.
If you can ponder
Transmogrifying through time to a tentative
Yonder then, too, you can probably see
What a very long Sunday this after will be
Along with the roofs and the attics and steeples
A whole bunch of fauna and flora and people
Swirling like down-under doo doo and
Colliding in violent relief.
(Armageddon is nigh!)
No use for prophy-
Lactics or tactics regarding prevention of
Life since it's ending as all of us know it
(I only hope we're not so worked up we blow it.) One
Day, as we finish a red velvet plethora,
Holes in the ozone will take all our breath from us
Then, fueled by nothing but hormones and cream cheese, we'll
Slither back into the soup.
As our excitement mounts
And our saliva — OUCH!
You mean you really doubt
Apocalypso?
OK, I heard, ALL RIGHT!
Enough of this crap tonight
(Cast iron's not too light;
Sure hope I'm right.)
Lyrics © 1991 John Brocato; music © 1991 Craig Smith
Everything else erase
Given plenty of space
This thing will come
Soon.
Jot down in your datebook
All night we will be shook
Until the neighbors look
In through the window.
Spiritus mundi
This is the time when the emus will fly when the
Lava will throw itself up through the lavatory
Scorching the Charmin and driving us all
Out of the frying pan into a featherbed
Frolic of frantically finale fucking
Away from the spewing, renewing, undoing
To undo and spew and renew.
Anyway, once again,
Put down the rolling pin
How can it be a sin
If it's the end of time?
Read it in Weekly World
As the fifth page unfurled
I saw the lord's tongue curl
Around the North Pole.
If you can ponder
Transmogrifying through time to a tentative
Yonder then, too, you can probably see
What a very long Sunday this after will be
Along with the roofs and the attics and steeples
A whole bunch of fauna and flora and people
Swirling like down-under doo doo and
Colliding in violent relief.
(Armageddon is nigh!)
No use for prophy-
Lactics or tactics regarding prevention of
Life since it's ending as all of us know it
(I only hope we're not so worked up we blow it.) One
Day, as we finish a red velvet plethora,
Holes in the ozone will take all our breath from us
Then, fueled by nothing but hormones and cream cheese, we'll
Slither back into the soup.
As our excitement mounts
And our saliva — OUCH!
You mean you really doubt
Apocalypso?
OK, I heard, ALL RIGHT!
Enough of this crap tonight
(Cast iron's not too light;
Sure hope I'm right.)
Lyrics © 1991 John Brocato; music © 1991 Craig Smith