THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH! called the man

As he paced with his sign up the street

He’s been saying that now, for seventeen years

He’s beginning to look a bit beat

But the twenty-first day of December

Could give him the wonderful high

For doomsday is here and four horsemen

might ride through the lightening streaked sky

But ‘til then, he will shout out his message

And chew on an old piece of gum

As walks up the Christmas full high street

Still talking from out of his bum

For the hours will roll on without ending

And the sun will still rise into sight

But he’ll shout out his message again and again

In the hope that he might get it right

But the weekend will see him downhearted

Yet we know that we’ll still hear him cry

But maybe he’ll be a bit grumpy

THE END OF THE WORLD IS… sigh…