horseman number four never shows up
create your own damn apocalypse
returning days of oral tales
there once were three horses pale
prancing around phony show
their riders couldn't afford silly suits worn
joy and passion left long ago
society's trap employment woe
just another day at work they said
at end of life they never lived
repetition deception devolve has been
predominate choice consensus prison
when time is spent indebted ruse
we miss our purpose to serve Truth
from this day on til curtain call
sing gratitude towards Infinite Creator of All.
Day Gun