'There's something wrong with the grass, Dave.'
'The grass? There's something wrong, you say?'
'Yeah, it's not as green as it should be, not growing as fast.'
'I wouldn't worry about it mate, it's just a niggle, it'll pass.'
But worry he did, he worried a lot.
Looking after the grass was his passion and job.
If it didn't grow because he didn't care,
Then he'd be sacked in the morning and be working nowhere.
'Listen, pal, you worry about nothing.
The grass ain't important, not even worth noticing.'
'Alright, Dave, just 'cos you're a big shot.
Head of the Ground with your office and whatnot.'
'It's not that at all, it's just there are bigger things.
Look at Karl, Director of Clouds, do you think grass bothers him?
'Well no...' 'Then don't panic! It'll sort itself out.'
And with that the two left without even a doubt.
But over night things got worse and the grass died away,
When they turned up next morning they had no words to say.
The Earth was a wasteland and the cows were all gone,
They had nothing to eat and their diets had gone wrong.
'Bloody hell Dave! I knew this would happen!'
He was running around in a panic, his arms flapping.
Flicking switches pressing buttons, hoping for the best,
But by then it was too late he could feel it in his chest.
'We're doomed, aren't we mate.' Dave looked resigned.
The world was ending, it had ran out of time.
They'd messed up the grass and it had ruined everything else.
The Apocalypse was coming. No-one to blame but themselves.
