Symphony Of Dead Ends

Galleons sail to a violin concerto
Orchestrated in Sea minus
Reality, the 12 men and 12 women
And 12 monkeys of the orchestra
Are balancing on a the tip of a unihorn
Of a narwhal, playing obliviously
As a tsunami of city traders
Dressed from big heads to little feet
Rolls furiously towards them,
No.1 Bus size calculators ready
In their tap tap tapping fingers
To drown the artists in capitalist
Poisonous algae, spreading fist over
Fist, in an unstoppable energy

'Why? Why do this to me?'
Asks the conductor, furiously
Trying to keep his composition flowing
His audience (you and I) dumbstruck
In our beautiful sunset galleons
Wondering if this symphony is a

Symphony That Never Ends, or
A Symphony Of Dead Ends, simply
An ebb and flow of curious, but ultimately
Bum notes amplified by
An ocean of mediocrity.