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Post-Something Platypus

A SONG

The world's all for burning while
The movie's two-hour play,
Squelches some half-earnest yearning
'bout a million miles away.

We rage against the machine with
Three-minute anthems in the street,
Until a Starbucks Latte
Makes us rest our unused feet.

"Our God is very great!" calls the voice from out the wilderness.
"Our God is very great!" cries the voice from out the storm.

Is there no balm in Gilead,
We ask with eyes wide closed.
And beat our raw backs bloody,
before the mirror: primp and pose;

Knowing in some vague tomorrow,
There's a place were it seems,
Ten Million Aborted fetuses
Keep all our "might-have-been's."

"Our God is very great!" calls the voice from out the wilderness.
"Our God is very great!" cries the voice from out the storm.

Excuse me, because my mind
Is too broken to make reply,
It doesn't really matter since
I'm never gonna die.

Death's just a dumb commercial,
When you've got a PS3,
And a million dead whoevers?
Well, they aren't as cool as me.

"Our God is very great!" calls the voice from out the wilderness.
"Our God is very great!" cries the voice from out the storm.

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