Civilization on the vine-O,
Staggering down the alley wine-O;
Some things never - for the moment, let's just say -
Change.

Marauders run into their neighbors' village waving sticks and throwing rocks,
And the President says
Bring back the Cold
War.

Machetes swing and slash and arms and legs fall away
So that diamonds pass between the right palms
Before gracing the fingers of American
Fiances.

Pipes become bombs, become filler for potholes, become
Flag-draped coffins.

Oil?

God?

Greetings, Professor Falken.

Shall we play a game?