Pessimist’s Destiny
If I stole a yoyo and learned to walk the dog
Harry, the dog, he'd wind up licking my palm.
I'd steal him that bike from ET's girl, Drew Barrymore,
Harry'd be my shotgun, hop in the bucket, flowers and all.
Didn't like her then, why'd we like her now all Smashley Simpson
with her roller coaster barrel roll hydrogen bomb hair.
Just cause she makes waffle homes and sings Beach Boys poems,
please, love ain't that fair.
We'd round the world, Harry and I, a man and his best friend.
Like a flying saucer planet hop grind and whip hip hit and jammer
till the pinwheel drops and daisies flop down the staircase,
or would we take the elevator instead…
Our suicide catch a freehand meltdown diving kamikaze into hell.
And in the end, I'd start the fire, screw this pacifist piss.
Zipper up tower down watch the world burn to the ground,
devour those last moments in Armageddon's lips.
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