Decadent mortals living as if there was no tomorrow
There won’t be. Not like today.
Throw it away. Throw it away.
Each discarded wrapper is another nail in your plastic sarcophagus.
You think this sphere is just rock ?
It breathes you know.
Its lungs are just as tired as yours will be
Think of all the living things as cells
Then perhaps you won’t create your hell.
Is it worth it for a shiny thing
That no birds sing ?
You and only you must look at your hands
And see the weapons that you each bear
Their ability to tear.
Throw it away ? Another day ?
Do you have one ?