DRY WELL
My brain has run out of ink
this is never as easy as you think.
The theme is old and tired and hardly worth the fuss
but we scribble on because we must;
Just another harangue to add to the din
about the confusion about original sin.
A single coupled sin committed with a bare dick
or a double sin with condoms thick.
Just like air guitar is not really music
we got pleasure in no small measure
and those celibate sterile judges getting none
seek to eliminate the fun.
In spite of the messages of virtue and doom
still more are born than pass away
and populations zoom
compounding the misery every day.
'Cause it's love for sale
something you caught in the mail
Afflicted in a personal version of a living hell
arriving at heavens gate
a buck short and a half hour late
to slake our thirst for immortality
to be confronted by the final irony.
Something missing from our vision
our reward is the void of oblivion
this is no magic spell
just a trip across the desert of life
and arriving at a
dry well.