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Millenium Party

Once upon a time, many years back,
In a world where men were men,
there was a village in a forest black,
with a climate very different then:
Winters with snow and bitter cold,
and nobody speaking about pollution,
instead the zeal of young and old,
was to start another revolution.

There was a famous haunt to hide,
a pub in the village centre,
which people, even late at night,
always liked to enter,
to feast and dance and drink and sing,
being a celtic rite since ever,
every person in the round table’s ring,
enjoyed the same right like never.

The songs have died with the old bard,
old customs sadly have vanished.
We no longer share bread and lard,
good partnership unblemished.
Lifestyle has changed to the worse:
People immobilize on their couches,
and whilst they are waiting for their hearse,
built themselves big fat pouches.