Another Hymn to the Apocalypse

man oh man, the grand tetons!
the crumbling appalachian plains
the growing din will rise to meet them
but in the end it's all the same;
to cook and clash then sing out sweetly
hymns to resurrect the soul
we correspond our tirades neatly
then end up with a glaring hole;
so take the bait to end it swiftly
and rise in false apocalypse
the lips of killers feign to miss me
but die in tiny gasping slips.

happy birthday tv!
(i wrote this at the downer while you were playing foosball!)
june 29th, after midnight (so technically june 30th, but it's cool)