Good old Harold Camping says all life will cease today.
A long-absent god will reappear and whisk his kin away.
The rest of us will vanish like poo flushed down the loo.
And later in October, all the stars will vanish too.
Now his God’s supposed to be merciful and compassionate I hear.
He’s said to be Love incarnate and hold his creation dear.
I only ask in fairness, before He destroys my home,
Take Harold and his freaky mates. Leave the rest of us alone.