People are anguished and perplexed.

The sea and the waves roar.

Men's hearts are filled with fear,

Wondering what is coming next.

 

What to say? What to do?

What to do? What to say?

 

'We must unite', earnest faces announce.

'We must incite', troublemakers grin grim.

'We shall not be moved', grey haired hippies sing

Then sheepishly they rush to shop

Before the supermarkets run out of stock.

 

On mountains of waste skinny children play,

Filling their sacks with enough treasure to pay

Their non taxable expenses for that day.

The end of the world is not in their thoughts

While searching at night a safe place to lay.

 

In Hindustan mud bricks are neatly stacked

By Mister Mushtaq and his sweating family.

Sun up, sun down, they fabricate and slave

To pay off their debt, a generous legacy

Of never ending, manufactured poverty.

 

Meltdown, by heated pundits, is anticipated.

In murky think-tanks solutions are formulated.

At sinister summits masters and puppets meet.

Heads of state, looking over their shoulders,

Sign paper promises they cannot keep.

 

In little Britain the Joneses and Mister Khan

Watching the weather warnings try to keep calm.

They search for hope in their favourite T.V. soaps,

For comfort from their fav'rite T.V. snacks.

While cutting edge comedians crack tasteless jokes.

 

At Sahara's edge fam'lies try to grow enough.

Gath'ring modestly, they worship God thankfully.

Then come men in black, shooting, shooting, savagely.

Shouting, God is great! Shooting, shooting, families.

Thinking their fervour does their god a great favour.

 

What to do? What to say?

What to say? What to do?

Wake up! Stand up! Look up! Pray!

From dark clouds comes Judgment Day.

 

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