Battle Stations

down here,

in the ice cold deep,

we play a game which is supposed

to be deadly serious,

but 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,

and press little red buttons,

out of fear of losing

something,

which only they have to fear,

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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