Soon the soft spring rains will fall
& wash your Shulamite shadow from the wall.
It will be too late for us then,
too late for us.
Any survivors will hunker down in holes,
the surface fit only for cockroaches and voles,
& the living will envy the dead,
will envy the dead.
The Red team lost and the Blue Team won.
Now I don’t know who is holding the gun,
but it will be a surprise,
a big surprise.
The world is blighted by ideological fools
& mushroom clouds will spring up like toadstools
& Russian nukes are cheap
So rattle your dags and bite your bum.
We’ve all been blown to kingdom come
& the sky’s lit up like a second sun,
but that’s ok
because it’s a little late then to council or pray