Comedy Gold

If one tragedy waits 'til another one goes

And proceeds without clearance to superimpose

If we close all our doors to the tainted night air

And cocoon and encapsulate everyone there

If the hands on our clocks are refusing to move

And insist that we timeless internees approve

If we feel our foundations are being undermined

And we batten down every last hatch that we find

♪

If our rails of deliverance rust and corrode

And our emptiness weeds seem to pepper the road

If the panic room warbles its synchronized song

And if harmony rules, yet we still sing along

If we've burned our deceitful debauched malcontents

And then scattered their ashes in futile laments

If we know how in politics, realism rules

And that workmen routinely are censuring tools

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If we distance ourselves in a virtual place

And no one encroaches into personal space

If the two-metre tango's our chosen pursuit

And an anti-bacterial shimmy to boot

If the run-of-the-mill is a cause for alarm

And our idea of heaven's a shot in the arm

If Uncle Tom Cobley has come back from the dead

And is painting our town a Sarcophagus Red

♪

If we're never to win, but to gloriously fail

And we contemplate everything going off the scale

If we have to submit and consent to the cost

And our powers of groupthink have never been lost

If we find ourselves asking, "Who's wearing that mask?"

And a Lone Ranger turns 'round and takes us to task

If permission is gained to remove our tin hat

And we find that the news cycle's tyre's gone flat

If that day ever comes and our story is told

Then we'll have to admit, it was comedy gold