Wasted Lives

I have watched them in their ceaseless task, Their fruitless task, That consumes them so, They who were once the level-headed ones, Now going rounded in circles, In an effort to make their straight lines, And prove that Life can be fair, If only they can get the playing field level. My face is starting to turn blue, As I tell them, over, and over again, That it can't be done. I do wish they would stop, As the more they try to make it level, The harder the field is to play on, And the more unfair life seems to become. They started out using picks and shovels, And when that didn't work, They bought in the diggers, They even tried blasting it smooth, But when they left the field for a while, I thought we might be able to tidy it up enough for game. That was until we got the news that they had been elected to Office And had started passing health and safety laws, To keep us off the field until they make it safe. I think it is time we took some measures of our own, And sent them back to school, To relearn what they seem to have forgot, That they should allow for the curvature of the earth, And settle for a field that is not quite level, At half time we can always change ends to make life almost fair, And accept the odd curved ball as the price we pay for living, In this world that is almost but not quite round.