The Polypropylene Deluge

The sky is gone, the ceiling breathes,
The water rises, cold and deep.
Beneath the rot where logic bleeds,
The panel building begins to weep.

For forty days, for forty nights,
We watched the dark, corrosive tide.
We lost our warmth, we lost our lights,
With nowhere left for us to hide.

We gathered in the flooded stair,
A lost and damp, pathetic choir.
We lifted gaze in dark despair,
To beg the Building Manager for the fire.

"O Building Manager, Lord of the Key!
Thy pipes are burst, the joints are weak.
Deliver us from this debris,
Before the heavy concrete groans!"

And lo, the prayers were heard at last,
The heavy door swung open wide.
The Manager came, the storm had passed,
To stem the cold and surging tide.

"Send down the Master, swift and stern,
With polypro, the gray and cold.
Let ancient iron rot and burn,
And end the reign of rust and mold!"

"We offer up our monthly fee,
We bow before the plastic grid.
Deliver us from entropy,
And seal the leak that God hath hid!"

The Master came, no dove in hand,
But torches lit with neon grace.
He brought the cure to save the land,
And sealed the flood within this space.

The deluge stopped. The pipes are tight,
The plastic veins begin to hum.
We stand in terror of the light,
The dry and sterile days have come.

The Ark is sealed, the bill is paid,
The panel building remains our shell.
In polypro, our vows are laid,
A waterproofed and plastic hell.

And lo, the ground was dry and still.
We looked upon the seams,
And saw that it was good.

Let there be polypro!