Mad Max

There's no break catching to be had
in our postmodern life decay
of doing things the motorized way
until we've all gone fucking mad
in a paranoid manic haze
     of enemy ubiquity...
          absolving all iniquity...

and mission creep to end of days
where no reward will be divine;

no nymph with which to sport and play
on afternoons to while away
the songs of women, and their wine,
who always knew, and very well,
that love was heaven and hate was hell,

some schemed overt, some on the sly...
with only revenge in full supply.