This last weekend I slept in three different rooms in my apartment. Now, I’m fully aware that this is not an interesting fact, but it does allow me to title this post without it being blatant lies.
Danger from the moon!
We can’t hope to defeat it,
but we can join it.
Hey, speaking of terrible PDR Poetry, like two months ago some song lyrics came to me in the shower and I saved that as a draft on this site for posterity. Well, now that we’re trying to update the site I want to get rid of all the unpublished drafts, so I’m going to go ahead and put this here. It’s even stranger than my usual poetic attempts, but that’s okay because I can blame the shower. I give you, Puppets On Fire:
Runnin’ out of ammo and food again. Every day the same old thing.
If brains were bullets you’d have a knife, but that’s good enough for this damn life.
Fenced in, strung up where could we go? Only places left were the ones we didn’t know.
Freedom is worth a hefty price, but hey, we still have appetites.
People say there’s nothing to be done, but it sure don’t feel that way holdin’ a gun.
Shame it’s such a gruesome act, ’cause nothing really compares to that.
The map was on the placemat back, but we stayed focussed on all the snacks.
The fence had holes bigger than the gate. We told the boss he said “that’s okay.”
We were puppets on fire, our strings did no good. Burnin’ on the ground, just lifeless wood.
From those ashes smoke did arise. The way it moved it looked so alive.
In our places we ate and cursed. Trapped in this spot what could be worse?
So that dark column blew across the sky. We watched it and waved goodbye.