Gotta loosen up
For the appocolypse
Your lips
Those lips
Thundering like a train
Bent on rails
The hail
Like golfballs on my head
Pounding the dead
Nostradamus once said
There shall be plenty
To go around
And around
Abound and ablaze
Lost in the maze
It's just a phase
The planet's going through
Like our daughter's
Like
Dislike
Eggs
Broccoli
And temper tantrums
The tampons we've used
We've abused
Our privilidge
Not our right
To exist
