This is another old poem, but I found a link on YouTube to an old video I put out years ago. If I were to record it again today, I’d pick a moderately slower tempo. (and my new gravelly voice.) It’s a good poem to put out on one’s 69th birthday.
No matter what you build, it all comes crashing down. No matter what you want, it all goes out of round. No matter how you sing, you make a discordant sound. It’s Entropy, Baby and it’s the law of the land.
It all spills into disarray. It all breaks into pieces. It happened to Sister Teresa. It happened to Jesus. As much as we want to keep breathing, eventually it ceases. It’s Entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust.
The universe is collapsing in upon its point of birth, or else it’s evaporating away from the center. No matter what we do In our little stay on Earth, we end up evicted like A delinquent renter. It’s Entropy, Baby and it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust. And we’re breaking up the band.
Energy flows to where it hasn’t been. No matter how much you have, you always need more again. Feather, fur or fin–you die, you rot, you pay the wages of your sin. Your molecules go out. They don’t even know each other when they meet up again. It’s Entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust. And we’re breaking up the band. On a subatomic level
Everything goes to hell Given enough time. My effort to keep the rhythm raises hell with the rhyme. When I pay attention to the rhyming, the timing falls apart. Everything goes to hell. There’s arrhythmia in my heart. It’s Entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust. And we’re breaking up the band. On a subatomic level they need your parts again.
Sunshine singers say, “Look, it’s bright.” The sun comes up and spreads the light. The rain that falls on the grave in the spring brings grass, and leaves, and there’s life again. But it’s Entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust. And we’re breaking up the band. On a subatomic level They need your parts again. ‘Cause it’s entropy, Baby.
The elements that bring back the new life will erode my gravestone over time And the granite will turn to sand. Even the conquering worm becomes dust motes in the sunshine. And children who play in the sunshine will grow, break their hearts, break their necks and die all alone. It’s Entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land. Everybody turns to dust. And we’re breaking up the band. On a subatomic level They need your parts again. ‘Cause it’s entropy, Baby. And it’s the law of the land.