I’m told that man was once a frog
   or crocodile perhaps,
Who slithered round the murky pools
   with all the other chaps,
With Mr. Snake and Sally Shrimp
   and rhinos big and small,
That life began back in the slime,
   that swamp worms spawned us all.

We then heard of the missing link
   who’s missing still I hear.
But wait, he’s learned to walk and think,
   just how remains unclear.
He’s learned enough to start some wars
   and kill most of his friends,
To read the Wall Street Journal
   for the economic trends.

Now he looks through a telescope
   and “sees” his future there.
He plans in April, first, I think,
   to climb some heavenly stair.
He long since has invented god
   and hopes to shake her hand,
While passing on some good advice
   from Never-Never Land.

He’s now an existentialist
   who teaches at some schools,
And tells the little boys and girls
   there really are no rules.
No up, no down, no back, no front,
   no anything you see.
We are but weary wanderers
   like flotsam on the sea.

For nothing was and nothing is
   and nothing can be proved;
For what was once foundational
   has long since been removed.
What is the end of these strange things
   no love, no joy, no sorrow?
The end of all these things is near;
   the funeral is tomorrow.

—Dave Breese