“Don’t worry” the preacher says
“The world’s only getting worse” and they laugh
The frame’s bent, the foundation’s cracked
The floor sags and entropy marches on
But we’ve got this toolbox in my shed
And a friend with a truck and tow-rope
There’s wood and cinderblock in the garage
And these hands and those hands and yours
The centre can’t hold forever, I know
And that bastard gyre ever-widens
But we might as well try, we rough beasts
We might as well.
