Hooray, I wrote a poem. Hasn't got a title... if anyone responds I might post another one someday.
If not, I'll pretend I never said anything at all
Here comes the mob and it's out for your blood;
There isn't much left for our planet to do
So we'll spend all our time the best way we know how:
we'll grab pitchforks and torches and head straight for you.
You might be a patsy, a scapegoat, fall guy,
or the unlucky schmuck who got stuck with the bill
for the banquet where all of the deadly sins feast,
just the same, regardless, we need someone to kill.
we're the mob, we're disgruntled, we must pick these bones
we have harbored our grudge for so many a year,
so we'll all pick on you; we don't care if you did
or did not do the deed, but the reckoning's here
so we will wreak our vengeance upon you today,
somebody or other had to be the one,
so just bite the bullet, it's time for the end;
the Eschaton's here, and hot damn, is it fun.