Realism

The smashed weirdness of the raving cadenzas of God Takes over all of a sudden In our time. It speaks through the voices of talk show moderators. It tells us in a ringing anthem, like heavenly hosts uplifted, That the rhapsody of the pastoral is out to lunch. We can take it from there. We can take it to Easy Street. But when things get tough on Easy Street What then? Is it time for realism? And who are these guys on the bus Who glide in golden hats past us On their way to Kansas City?