Each one seems like a dress rehearsal for the next.
The next war. The next spree. The next knee in the neck.
The rush to type an OMG, OMG text.
Mean girls hug. Forget they made him a nervous wreck.
Why we need machine guns nobody seems to know.
I remember the end scene of Bonnie and Clyde,
baddie bodies riddled back and forth real slow,
like something out of Revelations, and I cried.
I wouldn't machine gun to death an antelope.
Mum says I've always been sweet and gentle that way.
But then I hear "One Love" played as muzak. Can't cope.
I feel the folks at Winn-Dixie will have to pay.
So much distracting much ado about these days.
Like aliens zapping us with their laser rays.
