Disasterbation

Another new poem. This one's most definitely a performance piece - the chorus is sung, and I generally attempt to get the audience to join in.

I was trying to write something a bit more light-hearted and fun than my usual stuff, but it went a bit...wrong.

Disasterbation

You know it’s wrong, but still
You get a guilty little thrill
Every time there’s an explosion on the news.
And if the world is going to hell
You tell yourself you might as well
Just party hard because there’s nothing left to lose
And though you know it isn’t right you start to feel an odd delight
With each new piece of doom and gloom that’s beamed into your room tonight
Does war now thrill you to the core? Does global warming get you hot?
Does swine flu make you grunt and snort with satisfaction?
While the recession is caressing you upon your sweetest spot?
Disaster makes your heart beat faster, there’s a name for this reaction
It’s called

Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s a solution for a panic-stricken nation
Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s all too late, come celebrate, disasterbate.

So the oil is running out, while war reports keep flooding in
And politicians just keep dishing on more rhetoric and spin
If we can’t save society then, well, we might as well destroy it
And if it’s gonna happen anyway we might as well enjoy it
Let’s Armageddon it on! Fuel up, we’re driving to destruction!
Let’s light a global climate pyre using these fire safety instructions!
If billions die in floods and flames, well hey, you’ll probably be saved
And get to madly max it out in some apocalyptic rave
While singing

Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s a solution for a panic-stricken nation
Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s all too late, come celebrate, disasterbate.

But then occasionally you find in the recesses of your mind
A tiny niggling doubt that’s somewhere struggling to get out
Could there be something bad or mean in all these manic dreams you’ve dreamed
Of roller coasting into chaos toasting turmoil with a beam
While other’s lives are going to waste – could this perhaps be in bad taste?
And your own wild wasteful ways are hastening the final days
Of folks who never hear your jokes or get to join your latest craze
Those wars and famines that are happening to people far away
And leaving you – mostly - alone
Could they be real people’s lives with equal value to your own?
Meanwhile, around you is the sound of people muttering “enough”
They aren’t just loafers on the sofa; no, they’re trying to fix this stuff
And they’re delighting in the fight, they’re strangely happy just to try
It’s a whole different kind of party and you’re letting them pass by
And they’re giving you the eye…

But then the nightly news comes on and you immerse yourself once more
In your financial meltdown money shots and climate crisis porn
While singing

Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s a reactionary distraction for the nation
Woah! Disasterbation!
It’s all too late, come celebrate, disasterbate
It’s all too late, come celebrate, disasterbate
It’s all too late, come celebrate…
Disasterbate

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The first time I performed it, my mum was in the audience. I possibly should have thought that one through a bit more carefully.