Swarms

 

"Repercussion, repercussions, a glorious doom,

What would come to you, docile, but the things in your room?

I've got it all figured out, we've got it up high,

we'll enslave all of Earth, and nothing will come from the sky...

Bugs, I step on them, all of the time,

What are you telling me, this is some kind of crime?

I manage a business, and that isn't bad,

When I take the freedoms of Earth, who wouldn't be glad?

O, look, there's a planet, with an infinite peasant,

just sits there and chuckles, and thinks death is pleasant...

Let's see how he likes, a worldwide eclipse,

and take one step further, swarms of spider ships."

Poetry