“Apocalypse ‘12”,
So the Mayans had said.
“Mark on your calendars
That you’ll all be dead.”
And ev’ryone came
To the center of town,
To look at the clock
As the minutes ticked down.
We all knew it would end
But we didn’t know how.
“Be ready” we said,
“For anything now”.
They primed all the missiles,
The oceans did rise,
The sun started growing
To no one’s surprise.
Bob Frost, he took bets
On “fire” or “ice”.
I said “10-to-1 water”
And he said “no dice”.
A relieved Harold Camping
Lit a vict’ry cigar;
And even Cthulhu
Drove up in his car.
Behind him by barely
So much as a step
Came old Yog-Sothoth
And Nyarlathotep.
As twilight approached
We only could stare
And wait for the horsemen
We knew would be there.
The sky opened up
And there they appeared,
Looking as awful
As everyone feared.
There came a grim hush
To all of our chatter’n’
As those four moved into
Their last landing pattern.
Then one of the riders
Lost hold of his steed,
And the blasphemous bronco
Was off at full speed.
The Unearthly rider
Into space he was thrown;
‘Twas like the “Ghost Riders”
Meet “The Strawberry Roan”.
The next day the feeling,
As the headline explains:
Was “Apocalypse Called
On Account of the Reins.”