the world according to gripe

life is bad, the sea is rough
and the earth is shaking my lonely bed.
forests conspire and paper deliver
every coffee is made on a pyre
reasons are there, and the threats remain
sometimes i have to be wary, of that very thing
soon enough, the bread arrives
leaves me thinking of all the bad vibes
the jeep swerves, misses the cow
somewhere a man is shot, for not looking out
bombs explode, the earth shakes
it morning again, as my twin alarms make

look out, look out, there is a storm approaching
the sea turned black, and covered the skies
there are no birds and the spray is in my face
whenever the boat rolls, i am looking at solid granite
rolls of rain, hit the boat all the time
we are thinking what an exciting fun thing
it could have snapped, or i could have died
but i was collecting stories
for split second awes
exxagerated imagery and the movies we see
make a life threatening storm, just another coffee table story