Smoking Gun

Do we really need a written invitation

Can’t we see the writing on the wall

As mother earth spins out of orbit,

Dark clouds gather before the fall

Life’s hourglass fills with quick sand,

While the universe waits to implode

God-sent guardian angels hover tiredly

On the very edge of overload

Blasted by an electronic maelstrom,

Evil manifests itself on open ground

Armageddon seems the likely outcome,

Search and seek ye wayward bound

I can't swear that there’ll be hell

or heaven when the final battles done

But who really wants to stare down

The barrel of that smoking gun…