who am I? Slight revisions...

damn.
pitstop... doorstop...
pregame, endgame,
don't ya get tired of all these homegames?
winners and losers
ragamuffins and boozers
12-step-programs, pogams,
and stations-of-the-cross, crossing the
walls around Palestine, Israel mourns
for the dead, but can't see the living,
and it's a crying shame,
who's to blame?
nonduality and plurality fly out the window
with the hand that rocks the cradle
and the finger
that pushed the buttons
makes the call on the red Presidential phone,
if we just could, once and for all,
just
leave it all alone..

it must have been good in the beginning
way up there the air is still fresh and clean,
even if the streets are filled with mean,
we were all born of a  barren mother,
and somewhere the rock-a-bye-cradle
lullaby got stuck
in the middle of the road, there were no
detours no signposts ahead in Rod Serling's
voice, we all live on a yellow submarine
in a violent time zone,
did we ever have a choice?
in the deep blue yonder?
while some of us were kissing Santa under the mistletoe,
desperate housewives screwed the soldiers of fortune
who sucked the bones dry of all the lepers of Calcutta
and Molokai,
the businessmen are not-so-fat cats in the city, Wallstreet
is the new Isle of the Dead,
the monkey's paw turns the cosmic wheel,
and it's all coming apart again for the last time
I have heard, no I to ponder, not a creature will be stirring,
not even a mouse.