The record makers

Crawling on an urban highway
thinking this is the way to go
but we should know by now
that this is not how
evolution works.

we’re heading towards Armageddon
with blinkers on our eyes
and we’re burning the bridges behind us
while still
hoping that some God will find us.

Boom. we bust and all turn to dust
like a future nursery rhyme,
like ring a ring a roses
we all fall down in time.

Who’ll win the pissing contest
when perdition is the prize?
heading towards Armageddon
with blinkers on our eyes

© 2017, John Smallshaw.