Flamingos

From The Chronicles of Death

Flamingos

The Flamingos are leaving paradise
as a blind man's walking by.
Everyone's looting in the stores today
while others are getting high.

The rich man with his boats and cars
and a chauffeur driven Rolls.
Some of them leave quickly by way
of the grave digger and his holes.

I watched this man who's cooking
on a dirty sewer grate.
From the burning barrel across the street,
he slid a rat upon his plate.

Fire trucks are racing to the rescue,
shots are fired all around.
Don't have to see the world is falling,
to know what's going down.

The beggars and the homeless people,
they live it every day
while the fat cats count their money
before they go out to play.

Everything is feeding darkness coming,
you can't buy your way from here.
No one cares who you are or what you have,
no one's there to shed a tear.

The doughnut eating cops are running,
see them save the righteous man.
While the rest of us are left behind
to protect ourselves if we can.

My dog is sleeping on the davenport,
the phone is ringing off the wall.
The Devil's come collecting dues
and I'm the first he'll call.

There's the million dollar question
who will make it, who will not?
It all depends how tough you are,
not who you are or what you got.

I'm calling up this final courage
as I look to an angry sky.
I'll turn to fight one more battle
before we all, go off to die.

© Copyright 2006 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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