We can make an electric broom,
And rockets that vroom when they zoom,
And a boom from the bloom
Of a nuclear plume,
But we do not know how to stop doom.
We can sit around in the gloom
Discussing great issues that loom;
What’s more, we presume,
Someone cares when we fume,
Yet and that still, that doesn’t stop doom.
In conclusion then, we must assume,
When there’s nothing left to exhume
From our womb and our tomb,
That it all went kaboom
‘Cause we did not know how to stop doom.