Von Zippers Insect Idol
High above the earth the angry sunand the driest heat
since time begun.
Riverbeds cough on barren lands.
Beetles crawl with purpose
through a land of shifting, burning sands.
The older members of a human race
now few in number once had a place.
Using brains the size of artichokes,
revolutions of their fossil fueling prophets/profits
all go up in smoke.
When it's all said and done,
only one survivor
on a planet blackened by the sun.
(Here it comes.)
'Til then, to your knees,
all hail the Insect Idol.
Servants to a greater being,
servants to an Insect King.
Over time we'll perish in defeat
as cockroaches flourish in the heat.
Until that time our calling served,
his Highness subjects seal a fate
imminent, so very long deserved.
