Too Bad

Something to curb your good mood

Biology has an interesting trait;

you keep reproducing until it's too late.

You pass where the payout is equal to gain

to where your life's luster is starting to wane.

You think more is better; at some point you're wrong.

Too many, too many, too many, too long.

To curb population we used common sense.

To keep out the poor folks we built a big fence.

We'll find a new fuel source, but it's a surprise;

we'll have to sit tight while the sea levels rise

and thousands of species have gone to their fate.

Too little, too little, too little, too late.

People who try to restrain us have found

too many crazies and no common ground.

The anarchists won, we're out of control;

civilization is circling a hole.

We thought we could save it; it turns out we're wrong.

So sorry, so sorry, so sorry, so long.