Millennium Endgame


What can we see in our crystal ball?

Here’s Old Jehovah huddled up close

To the dying embers of the Fire of Creation

Poking around in the Ashes of History

For some old scroll, a blueprint

He'd chucked in by mistake some eons ago

When it was not quite ready to fly.

And once cast into the Fire of Creation

Not even He in his almost omnipotence

Could unmake the World.

But He had soon regretted His mistake.

A freezing wind howls in across eternity

An icy shiver runs up and down his spine

He pulls his overcoat tighter around him

Shuffles a little closer to the fading fire

And reaches for some spirit to warm his heart.

His very last bottle.

"That it should come to this" he mutters.

"No hope, no light, no future".

Somewhere once he had had a son

Gone off to try to make humanity repent

Or some such foolish notion.

He had warned him, told him what would happen.

"You'll only get nailed up", he'd said

But that boy listened to no-one

Not even to the Devil.

Speaking of the Devil

He wonders what his sometime partner

And later arch-rival is up to now

Of course he had had to sell out to Satan many centuries ago

Couldn't afford to pay the bills for all that holy light

Paradise had stood empty far too long

The happy multitudes had failed to come

He hadn't made a prophet since Elijah.

So Lucifer had bought the whole lot cheap

And redeveloped it to make a theme park.

Old Nick had gone respectable lately,

Wore a pin-striped suit and tie

Had paid a certain price for his success:

Lost his fire and put on fat.

But Jesus, now where was that boy?

Ever since he'd resurrected

He was everywhere and nowhere

Leaving his old Dad to fend for himself

With only a pocketful of painful memories.

He's probably out riding with those mates of his,

That celestial motorcycle gang -

What did he call them "Heaven's Devils?"

Trying to turn that upside-down world

The wrong way up to make it come out right.

Bah! What a waste of time and talent!

Old Jehovah pokes around once more

Lingeringly among the ashes

Then turns and crawls into his cardboard box

To try to get some forty thousand winks

Forget the cold

Embrace oblivion

Dream of ancient splendour.

Not much else left to do.

Tomorrow might be another day.

But, then again, God only knows, it might not.

Goodnight, God Bless.




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