Apocalyptic Minstrel Poem by Brian Stafford

There's an apocalyptic minstrel.
singing in my street;
Wearing vegan shoes,
never eating red meat;
He sings of wasted chances,
destruction and defeat;
Squandering of resources,
and throwing hope away;
Selling out the future,
to satisfy their greed;
Hoarding all their riches,
ignoring those in need;
There's a new wave of water,
lapping at my feet;
There's a new type of face,
walking down my street;
But I'm not really sure,
if it's the type I want to meet;
There's an apocalyptic minstrel.
singing in my street.