Because It’s the End of the World
I’m writing you now because it’s the end of the world. We grew up in love, until the times changed. You became a fascist, and I secretly joined the resistance. But you always knew about that, didn’t you? Thanks for pretending. I’ve lost count of how many times I watched you on podiums, spewing out fascist lies to the mindless masses, from behind my sniper’s rifle, I never could take that shot. Now you’re a leader and harbinger of death. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that I finally stole the original written recipe for the famous “Pina Collada”.
However, in times such as these, I had to modify my escape plans. I’m currently held up in an old dilapidated radio station in northern Canada. Any escape has been blocked off by a very obsessive and determined pack of wild dogs, I’m not too worried, where would I go until the end of the world.
I pick up news from time to time, I didn’t think genocide was your thing. You were always afraid of clowns when you were young, so you had them all shot and bulldozed into public parks, like garbage. This New World Order thing has really gone to your head
I remember you rehearsing your speeches in our bed, both of us with revolvers under our pillows, I miss the sound of your voice even through all that propaganda. You got exactly what you wanted, and I got what I deserved.
I heard that “Social Media Withdrawal” killed off quite a few people, some ate bullets, some just dropped dead.
I heard the poor and disenfranchised are being killed like cattle, in massive herds. Does your position bring a smile to your face, or has your heart grown black, like the blood on the wheels of your war machines?
Maybe one day you’ll hear “Until the end of the World Radio” broadcasting news of a new resistance.
Maybe I’ll be eaten by wild dogs.
But you stay right where you are, I want you safe, right by the Devil’s side.
Horror Sleaze Trash 