Lost somewhere down the line?

The doldrums of irate clouds wander
into an office of compartmental Rwanda
Bushtucka bye bye as they think and wonder.

Each and every station taken
segmented, compartmentalised
the systems braking.

Split hairs, horse whiskers
and kitty cat fly squewifters
flap as the smoke brings in more drifters.

New jobs, new buildings and new codes
Fall onto the office like a road full
of digging toads.

Each and every station taken
segmented, compartmentalised
the systems braking.

As the message moves slowly
into the world like the boy's
in the bush.

The boss cries holy Moses
and the staff start to rush
the message gets lost

Another one gets ear ache
and a pain in the touché.

The job was simple
in it's original form
when it was born
it meant something.