The End Days

By Toscano

The End of Days seem to have arrived, all too damn soon,

I'm looking for the sun, but there's only the moon.

Looking for warmth, but the freeze marches on,

where the hell did I stumble, and where did I go wrong?

It seems to me, that greed is the thing, the order of the day,

and an honest heart is no longer the way.

Back-stabbing bitches, and neighbourhood snitches,

these are the ones who grasp it all.

Meanwhile, the ones who believed in the ultimate good of men,

are the poor bastards who eventually take that long, hard fall.

Cheating, lying, betrayal, and wealth,

the trash of the world always approaches in stealth.

They scheme and they plot, a means to destroy,

while they play with emotions, like a spoilt child with a toy.

Two-faced and rotten, stinking right to the core,

the filth that manipulates and plays with others;

How I now hate that black-hearted slut, that mean-eyed whore,

and I revile my good-for-nothing brothers.

It isn't to hard to know how Christ must have felt on that night,

when Judas betrayed him, like a back-stabbing shite.

Darkness closes in, and everyone's gone away,

leaving a man all alone, to endure another day.

I think I'll open another beer, while I say "screw you!", to the fear,

does anyone care, or can anyone even hear?

The seconds move on, from dusk to dawn,

I'll greet my fate with two fingers, and probably a yawn.

Tears in the rain, nothing else to gain,

surely there's got to be an end, to this God-awful pain.

Wondering now, why we bother at all,

while all the time, we are waiting for the call.

One day, hopefully not far away,

the last hour will come, and at last the sun will hold sway.

It is time to find out, if the road leads anywhere good,

so I'll be on my way, as a man ultimately should.

Knowing my luck, there will be nothing there,

but, in the grand old scheme of things,

I don't much really care.