The ending will be . . .

It won’t be by fire

It won’t be by ice

Not a slow-creeping glacier

Or atomic device


The sun won’t implode

On apocalypse day

There won’t be four horsemen

Riding our way

The Messiah won’t show

With a list in his hand

And, no

Heaven won’t have

one helluva band


And there won’t be any

fences to mend

or dastardly sins

We’re forced to defend


And the angel of death

Will have no wings at all

She’ll be a viral and nasty

Spiky red ball

Aided by

an immoral fool,

who always felt

he was too cool for school


And the angel of death

will give him a task

“push lie after lie”

and don’t wear a mask”

Together they spread

Death far and wide

Taking all of America

on a perilous ride


So, no

It won’t be by fire

And it won’t be by ice

Not a slow creeping glacier

Or atomic device

Our ending will be

Too small to see

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