Battlestations

down here,

in the ice cold deep,

we play a game that is supposed

to be deadly serious,

but nobody takes too seriously,

otherwise,

it could be deadly,

so we compromise,

and try to sleep through it,

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 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, maddening alarm.

.

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