by Robert Anderson

Created on: October 17, 2008

Chaotic Times

It all starts,

with a wink and a smile

A continental trip,

that suits your style

That terrorist bomb,

that is so revile

Glaziers breaking,

and losing a mile

Never mind,

this may take a while

And we all live,

so far from the Nile

My plastic card,

will credit me through

I'll pay it tomorrow,

and start a new

Lucky are we,

the chosen few

Clucking like chickens,

without a clue

Throw us a carrot,

to make a stew

A population striving,

within uncertainty grown

Their generation destined,

for a combat zone

Caution and winds,

are tossed and thrown

For living today,

with a dollar five showing

Chaotic delusions,

from an economy slump

Motivation now hurdles,

with too high a jump

$700 billion,

around a dollar a bump

Auctioneers smile,

as their hammers thump

On the home of the family,

thrown on the dump

Patriotic slam dunk,

crash and burn

The plastic is melting,

under our sun

Don't look back,

but take your turn

As this world keeps,

you on the run

And grinds you till,

your under it's thumb

Another six o'clock disaster,

for media time

We're falling from faith,

like ants in line

But hold the remote,

to give you a sign

Absorbing the lies;

that you'll be fine

Contracting disease,

as we feed on their slime

Mesmerized images,

that makes us whine

But afraid to act,

in a life sublime

So alive,

we got the dreamers disease

Then when collapsed,

we all got our knees

Don't stand up,

and don't dare sneeze

You'll be told,

when and who to please

Your windmills turn,

but they own the breeze

Grind, grind,

grind, check your teeth

Between your legs,

and underneath

All is bone,

where once was beef

Cover your shame,

in little fig leaf

Remember days,

we ran a miracle mile

Fought for our rights,

and died in style

Secure in the thought,

of our children's smile

It's all there still,

and saved to file

To read it all,

may take a while

Don't let it rot,

in graves revile

We just have,

to roll back the stones

Shake our heads,

and dust our bones

Clear out the rats,

and make atones

Bail ourselves out,

and forget the Jones

X-on Oil,

Brown and Bush

You days are numbered,

no excuse

This legacy lays,

with your abuse

Your greed that tied,

the noted noose

Sorry if,

I sound obtuse

But time to cook,

the golden goose

M' Cane, Obama,

and upper classes

Listen now,

for we're the masses

Clean your ears,

and wipe your glasses

Pull our lives back,

from these ashes

Or we'll come round,

and kick your asses

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