Battle Stations

down here,

in the ice cold deep,

we play a game

which is supposed to be

deadly serious,

but which nobody takes

too seriously,

otherwise,

it could be deadly,

so we compromise,

and try to sleep it off,

but some still insist

on playing the game,

so we play,

and most of the time

we lose,

not that we really lose,

otherwise

we’d all be lost,

and then

there would be nobody

to play the game,

and the game

has to be played,

otherwise

it wouldn't be a game,

it would be real,

and politicians would panic,

pressing little red buttons

out of fear of losing

something which only they

have to fear losing,

because everyone else

has nothing to lose;

oh alright!

I’ll wake-up!

Yes, I’ll play the game today,

hold on to your poopie suit,

but I won’t play much longer,

so use me while you can,

because soon

I’ll be using you

to play the game

for me,

so I can sleep at night

and not dream

about little red buttons;

will somebody

please cut out

that annoying,

snickering alarm.

.

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