Springfield, By the Way

In the one skip of light fantastic
Stands the butler dressed in black plastic,
Then from under the kitchen table
Crawls the sister who's near disabled;
Watches brother run with his cohorts
While his hands are shoved into white shorts.

Then appearing out on the pavement,
Near the old shop that sells engagements,
Are the dancers caught in slow motion;
They've run out of elixir lotion.
Music's blaring but no one's singing,
They're fearful of what autumn’s bringing.

When the words came down from the Heavens
They'd gambled on sixes and sevens.
O'er the ramparts was hung the traitor
While the cannons shot down the sailor.
The high priestess opened the prisons
And erased all soothsayers’ visions.

On the morning of the night after
There's no joker spreading his laughter;
No ships sailing that carry Norsemen;
Just the echoes from the Four Horsemen.
Now the preachers have turned to fasting
As they wait for the everlasting.

Little sister's running for freedom,
Heard the Horsemen as well as seen 'em.
Brother's standing with hands in pockets
While he's watching ten thousand rockets.
In a short time it'll be revealed . . . 
Armageddon’s coming to Springfield.

Copyright © Daniel Larson | Year Posted 2012

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