Little Men

An old poem.

Some say the World will end upon



a blaze of anger, houses torn



to little peices, little men



wailing for their little friends



(or atleast, well - what remains of them)



and music dancing to the flames



of rolling graves with all our names



embedded on forgotten stone,



and wails as we're all alone



in little boxes, little men



all wasting to our hate again.





...  Because wouldn't it be just as daft



for the World to end upon a laugh.