Four Outta Work Dudes

 
By the time the four horsemen  
finally rode in        
they were kinda pissed.    
They had always been big on entrances      
but even though the sky      
was blotted out horizon to horizon    
that was only temporary      
and no-one seemed surprised
at their arrival.      

This wasn't the way    
the Book had said it would be.     
On account of the cutbacks       
there was no angel fanfare       
or crashing of trumpets.       
 
All four had been looking forward      
to the End of Days since way back,      
but the situation down on Earth        
seemed a whole lot more apocalyptic        
than even they were expecting     
         
This was not what God had foretold     
there was more of a        
slow slide towards Doomsday      
a gentle curve on a graph      
neatly plotted by man himself,       
hellbent on self destruct        
getting off on crazy        
and blindly pushing his own buttons      
     
Death looked at Famine        
and sucked in his breath:    
Looks like most of our work here has been done,      
he said.      
They've been starving 25 million every year      
and we didn't even know.     
These people don't seem too terrified either.      
Do you think it's this pale green horse I'm riding?      
I guess nowadays    
they've got scarier things on TV.     
        
Beside them the red horseman of War        
was studying his nails intently,        
sulking in thunderous silence     
and the fourth guy, Pestilence,        
always looked vexed.    
     
No-one was exactly sure      
what he did anyway,      
because up until then      
he had never uttered a word      
but the others agreed       
that white    
was the best color for a horse.      
     
Now the white rider dismounted      
and kicked the ground angrily       
while he took a leak,       
letting out a long stream of toxic pee.        
We're a thousand years too late,      
he wailed      
Did you see those teenies      
slashing themselves all over,   
hiding in the dark      
and licking their own blood?      
   
What's the use        
in leading them to Hades?      
What's the point      
when their miserable lives      
must be hell already?     
     
Ah, so that was his job,      
said Death.