Your fun is running
on gas
and the past is
catching up with you
Mud flew through the air
slung without a care
and now you’re standing there
crying, “Not fair!”

Your fun is running out
of fuel
and the cast is
squaring off to duel
Swords slip through the air
cutting close to where
there could be no repair
But their wounds can’t compare
to yours

Scores and tallies
debts and rallies
expand with belly laughs
The poor and rich
remain addict
to the others’
position
Rules and standards
questions, answers
mutually exist
The classed, the caste
feign aghast
at the very
suggestion

Your fun is running
on gas
but the last drop is
burning in the tank
stanking up the air
Thank your lucky stars
you’ve come this far
now that you’re going
nowhere else

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