Impossible Nothing

There was nothing left

Nothing left for us

By the time we got there

The rats had already left

And what they left us, wasn’t much

We scoured, pillaged, scrapped and swore

Swore we would leave this kind of life

But life has a funny way of repeating itself

So we burned it down

And drank the last of the whiskey

Up on the hill

Far enough away

To watch it all burn

But not catch fire, ourselves

Then we packed up

Grabbed our measly belongings

Got ready for the haul

Time to travel

Time to head out

On to the next impossible nothing

The great big letdown

Letting us know

We’ve arrived too late

That the rats had all left

And what they left us, didn’t amount too much

Boy, time has funny ways

Ways of repeating itself

© Dicky J Loweman 2014