Running On Empty

I’m taking heavy fire,
from a thirteen-pronged attack.
I throw a flaming tyre,
they throw bunker busters back.

It doesn’t seem to matter,
how I fight or what I bring,
things rearrange to scatter,
my resolve into the wind.

These days I start to wonder,
if I roused an angry god,
who doesn’t deal in thunder,
or a fatal lightning rod,

but lulls you into thinking,
there’s a happy life for you,
while secretly he’s stinking
up the things you try to do.

From then on it’s a yoyo,
twixt persistence and despair,
which suffocates your mojo,
till your engine’s sucking air.

Well now my tanks are empty,
hardest mission ever flown.
If I don’t make reentry,
guess I’m walking home alone.



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